


For Thine Is The Kingdom

by kedavranox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Draco Malfoy, Background Femslash, Background Slash, Blatant Disregard for Traditional Vampire Lore, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Community: hd_erised, Creature Fic, Dom/sub Undertones, Families of Choice, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Frottage, Guns, H/D Erised 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hung Draco Malfoy, Language Kink, Legilimency, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Mates, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Near Death Experiences, Occlumency, POV Alternating, Pansexual Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Rimming, Romance, Self-Harm, Sex Toys, Shower Sex, Soulmates, Tattoos, Telepathic Bond, Vampires, Violence, brief breathplay, brief spanking, post-sex fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-24 07:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 66,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17096618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedavranox/pseuds/kedavranox
Summary: On a secret mission, Draco is Turned. With no memory of what happened, he learns that to save his missing Auror partner and regain what he’s lost, he must uncover the long-buried secrets of the vampire covens. To do that, Draco must open his mind and heart to what he has become, the new-found family that surrounds him, and the man who has remained steadfast at his side through it all.Harry spent five years avoiding the man he fell in love with, but when Draco needs his help, he cannot refuse. As they race against the clock to find Draco’s partner, Harry discovers that the bond they share is nothing to hide from, and that he'll never outrun the pace of his own heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leontina (Leontina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/gifts).



> Leontina, I saw the words ‘Vampire Draco’ and my brain went on this tangent that I truly hope you enjoy reading. It was a pleasure to write for you!
> 
> Please know that I do not share Harry’s disdain for teal trousers, Colombian coffee, or fedoras. Profuse thanks to my alphas/betas N, T and G. You really helped me pull this fic together! Special thanks to G who went above and beyond and to S who came in at the eleventh hour and gave Draco and Jules their French voices.
> 
> Thank you to the mods whose patience I really tested with this one. Thank you for your graciousness and numerous extensions! I’m so happy to be part of this fest. Thanks also to Billie Eilish, who saved this one for real.
> 
> Happy Holidays, Everyone!

_And I know it makes you nervous,_  
_but I promise you, it's worth it_

  


Draco

The Unspeakable leans back into Draco's dining room chair, his posture upright and foreboding. He quietly observes Draco from behind the dark mesh that obscures his face before he makes the decision to speak. 

"Auror Malfoy." His voice is dead and flat and completely without inflection. "I need you to tell me everything you can remember." 

The Unspeakable's lack of tone is unnerving, even though Draco knows it's only a spell—one designed to obscure his voice as the black Hood and all that bloody leather hides his body.

Draco takes a hitching, unsteady breath and closes his eyes, trying to get a lid on the rising hysteria edging its way up and out of his throat. "How did I get home? Where's my wand?" 

The Unspeakable folds his arms across his chest. His forearms are taut with muscle, and the curve of his bicep swells beneath the long-fitted sleeves of his dark cloak. He spreads his thighs and tilts his head. "You don't know?" 

Draco tries his best to remain calm and still. He looks down at the dining room table—it's minimalistic, just a thick slab of wood held up by wrought iron struts. He'd bought it from a catalogue and watched a team of Muggles set it up as he watched from the hallway, nursing a beer and trying not to seem as curious as he was. 

His last memory is of the coven, of sleeping in Vyken's bed and being woken by something or someone. Almost everything about the coven seems to exist in a hazy blur. Then he was waking in his flat in Kensington to Gawain gently nudging his shoulder, and the Unspeakable across from him looming in the hallway outside his bedroom. 

Now Gawain remains seated behind them at one of the barstools at the marble top island observing the scene without comment, and the Unspeakable leans forward and rests his hands on the dark-stained dining table. 

Inexplicably, Draco's gaze is drawn to the Unspeakable's leather-gloved palms. His fingers are long and tapered, and he has a peculiar habit of tapping his right index over his left in a strange sort of Morse code. This is perhaps the only thing that makes him seem less a _portent of doom_ and more a mere man in a Hood. Draco holds on to this detail in his mind, finding it oddly soothing in the face of his confusion. 

The Unspeakable taps his fingers again and turns his head to Gawain for a quick glance before he speaks again. "Before we talk about that, let's try to get through the case. I need you to try to give me as much detail as you can."

Draco presses the heels of his palms against his eyelids in an attempt to make them stop throbbing. It's useless, of course—everything still hurts. The dull pain extends even towards his fingertips and beneath his nails. 

Draco looks down at himself in a sort of haze. His lungs are heavy and aching, and each breath leaves him colder on the inside. The front of his shirt is stained with blood, and the dark maroon blotches stand out against the white fabric as if to say, _‘You are, by all accounts, very much_ not _all right.'_

Gawain crosses the room and leans against the wall a few feet away. Some of the tension in Draco's shoulders releases at the sight of him, comforted by the knowledge that at least there is one person who is on his side. 

Gawain's short brown hair stands on end, and his usually neat beard is a scruffy mess. His broad shoulders slump forward, and his robes lack their usual crispiness, hanging about him in depressing folds. His grey undershirt is covered in blood, a large deep-red blotch that covers his broad chest.

Draco tears his gaze away and studies the Unspeakable again, envying the way he hides beneath his cloak and leather. What scares Draco most is that he has no idea what he's so afraid of—what trauma his mind is trying desperately to alert him to. His body keeps cycling through emotions he doesn't understand and cannot process. He doesn't know how to take hold of them, to slow them down and learn where they're coming from.

"Are you going to tell me what's in the flask?" Draco asks, gesturing to the steaming vessel behind them. It sits innocuously on his countertop, lying beneath a heavy-handed stasis charm, yet no inanimate object has ever been quite so loud.

"What do you think?" the Unspeakable asks in that same, dead voice. 

"I don't know, do I? I don't remember a damned thing from the last…." Draco rubs his temples with his fingertips and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the panic arising in his chest as he searches for memories and finds nothing but empty, grey spaces, without sound or movement. "My memory's been tampered with. I don't know how much…." He looks across the room at Gawain, needing a human face to focus on, but Gawain's gaze is unreadable. 

Draco points at the flagon. "That has something to do with this, doesn't it?" he asks quietly. 

"What makes you think that?"

Confused by this turn but noting how the Unspeakable avoids answering his question, it takes Draco a moment to answer. "You keep looking at it, then you look at me, and then you check your watch." He's embarrassed to hear his voice cracking with the strain of his fear. "It's extremely… disconcerting."

The Unspeakable seems to hesitate beneath his Hood. He taps his index again and says, "The flask is a potion." 

" _I know it's a fucking potion!_ " Draco coughs, and it rattles his chest so hard he almost expects to bring up blood. 

Gawain makes to reach out to him, but the Unspeakable raises his palm and Gawain stops, then flattens himself along the wall. "Let's take things one step at a time, all right?" he says, and even his voice sounds tired. "Draco, just let him know everything you can remember. It's okay."

Both Gawain and the Unspeakable are keeping their distance from him, as though afraid. The realisation puts a lead weight in the pit of Draco's stomach, and he folds his arms across his chest and closes his eyes against a wave of nausea. When he opens them again, Gawain's gaze is so full of concern that Draco can't look at him without feeling his despair. He fixes his gaze on the table instead, transfixed by the whorls in the woodgrain. 

The Unspeakable's voice breaks through Draco's quiet contemplations, and Draco starts. "Explain the case to me as though I don't have a single file," he says. "Because, for some reason, I don't."

Draco's gaze flicks to Gawain again and Gawain nods, though he rakes a hand over his beard anxiously. "Muggles were disappearing," Draco says quietly. "Almost as if they'd vanished. The pattern matched the feeding history of a coven we learned belonged to a vampire named Vyken."

"Feeding history? The MLE had prior knowledge of this coven?"

"Not specifically Vyken's coven," Draco says. "But the MLE has been turning a blind eye to coven activity for years. They seem to coexist with Muggles without hurting anyone, and what the Muggles don't know won't hurt them." 

"Until they started disappearing." 

Draco pauses, momentarily confused by the sudden need to defend the coven against this. "Vampires have ways of making the bite painless. Maybe even pleasurable. They can alter memories. No one was getting hurt." 

"No one the Ministry cared about, at least." 

Draco lets this pass without comment, but Gawain makes a sudden, sharp movement, and says, "And what exactly has the Department of Mysteries done for Muggles lately?"

The Unspeakable hesitates. "You should be careful, Robards. There's a reason they call us Unspeakables." 

"Oh, fuck off, you arrogant twat."

Draco holds up his hand. "If we could save the dick measuring for after, please?" he says, even though he's never been prouder of Gawain for standing up for his department. "I feel like shit, I'm covered in blood, and I need some fucking answers."

Gawain resettles himself against the wall looking murderous, his hazel eyes alight.

The Unspeakable is silent for a moment, then turns to Draco again. "You decided to infiltrate. Why not your partner?"

Draco gives him an incredulous look. "Don't be daft. I was an easier sell." Draco wiggles his fingers carelessly. "Heir of darkness, et cetera." The Unspeakable says nothing to this, but gestures for Draco to continue. "I was sacked from the Auror department. Or at least, that's what Gawain and I used as cover." 

The Unspeakable nods. "I remember," he says. "That was about six months ago. What was your play?"

"I needed to make Vyken believe that I'd been completely disillusioned by our community. That I wanted to join his coven." Draco pauses. "As a Giver."

The Unspeakable leans back in his seat. "But you're a wizard," he says, "Your magic wouldn't allow them to feed on you."

"My partner and I suspected that if explicit and continuous consent is granted, it's possible for a vampire to feed on magical blood."

The Unspeakable remains silent, as if dumbfounded. "But you understand why our magic reacts that way, don't you? Vyken would have access to it." 

"Believe it or not, there are people outside of the Department of Mysteries who occasionally read," Draco mutters viciously. "Our research led us to believe that his access would be temporary, perhaps a few days. It made my offer more invaluable to him. My partner told me the risks, and I made a decision."

The Unspeakable makes a sudden, seemingly uncontrollable movement in his chair as if he's about to rise, then he seems to gather himself and says, "You were willing to gamble your life on this."

"It's my job," Draco replies. "Maybe you've been spending too much time in your lab, _Unspeakable_ , but there's real work out there that the Aurors are doing."

The Unspeakable is quiet for a long moment, and then he turns to Gawain. "Your Ministry just _loves_ a martyr, don't they?"

"The last I checked, you lived in England," Gawain spits. "It's your fucking Ministry, too."

The Unspeakable looks up at him, his movements slow and measured. "The Department of Mysteries doesn't answer to the Wizengamot. Maybe you've forgotten that." 

Gawain rises to his full height, all six foot five of towering bulk, and pushes himself off the wall. "Fuck you, your entire department, and your bloody oversized ego, you insufferable little shit." His hazel eyes gleam dangerously under the low chandelier and Draco reaches out to stop him with a hand on his arm. Gawain looks down at him, as though he'd forgotten Draco was in the room. 

The Unspeakable looks back to Draco as if Gawain hadn't said a word. "So, then. What did you find?" 

"I… I don't remember. Most of it is a blur." Draco closes his eyes, confused. "There's a hierarchical structure to the covens… a council? Something about the way they're able to travel so quickly—" A sudden, sharp pain in his skull leaves him breathless and he raises a hand to his forehead, pressing his palm against his suddenly warm skin.

Gawain reaches for him then stops himself again. "Stop reaching for it, Draco, you'll hurt yourself."

"Was he able to leave the coven at all?" the Unspeakable says, directing his question to Gawain.

Gawain opens his mouth to respond, but simply shakes his head instead and retreats to his previous spot in the kitchen.

"How was he able to make contact? Give reports?"

Draco taps the shell of his ear with a fingertip, and a small black disk slides easily from his eardrum. He sets it on the table. "We used the new magicom prototype from your department," he says. "Not knowing where the coven is located, we weren't certain it would cover the distance, but it did."

The Unspeakable picks up the device. "My handler makes these," he says. "There's no chance it would have failed." He turns it over in his long, leather-encased fingers, and Draco finds himself caught in the movement.

The Unspeakable sets the device down on the table and rubs his temples beneath his Hood. "You sent him in without backup of any kind. No extraction plans." He looks up at Draco. "Were you _trying_ to kill yourself?" 

Draco clenches his jaw. "I know what I'm capable of." 

"I bet you do," the Unspeakable says quietly. "How often did you check in?"

"I… don't remember."

"Once a week," Gawain says. 

The Unspeakable turns to him. "Why is there no record of this operation? If Auror Malfoy can't remember his case, there should be dozens of reports to guide us." 

Draco turns to Gawain and tries to silently indicate that he doesn't know the answer to this. He can't remember.

Gawain leans against the countertop, ankles crossed, his palms flat against its surface. He closes his eyes briefly, as if in pain, and then his deep baritone fills the room. "More Muggles went missing," he said. "At the time Draco was in play, at least half a dozen disappeared. Our Liaison at the Met requested MLE patrols to assist in tracking known coven members and to tail them if spotted. Vyken knew the routes and times for each one." His gaze flicks to Draco as he continues. "Padma suspected someone was feeding him intel. She stopped sending reports to the Ministry. She relocated operations into your cottage in Somerset. You both went rogue." 

"You sanctioned this?" the Unspeakable says.

"I did," Gawain says with a curt nod. "For the safety of my agents. And I stand by that decision." 

The room descends into an ominous, heavy silence.

The Unspeakable breaks it, with his dead, wooden voice. "You knew the Ministry would suspect Draco had turned." 

"The thought had crossed my mind." Gawain pushes himself off the countertop and runs his fingers through his hair. "It's why I need you. The only reason you're here is because I know what they call you. I know what you do." 

Draco stares at Gawain, his heart thudding with each breath, so loud that he's sure they both can hear it. Gawain gives him a rueful smile and shrugs his shoulders. "I had no choice, Draco. You know what they're like. I needed to protect you."

Again, the room descends into silence, and the Unspeakable sits very still for far too long. Then, with a complicated gesture, he waves away his concealment charms and the dark mesh that obscured his face and pushes away his Hood. 

"I fuckin' knew it," Gawain groans.

All Draco can do is stare at Harry, seated opposite him, still cloaked in black and leather, his unruly hair overgrown and covering his scar, his dark stubble smudging his cheeks. 

"Hello, Draco," he says quietly. 

Draco has never in his life been struck speechless, but over the course of an hour, it's happened more times than he'd like. He sits there, gaping uselessly and unable to stop himself from doing so. 

Harry gaze slides to Gawain. "We have nothing to prove that Draco is innocent. Not even a memory."

Draco shakes his head rapidly, on the verge of hysteria from information overload. "What do you mean… nothing?" He looks between them, his unsteady breath puffing from his lips. "Where's Padma?" 

Harry and Gawain look at each other in silence, and then Harry sighs and stands, beginning to pace the room. It's his favourite thing to do whenever he is on edge, and it's always driven Draco a bit mad. 

"You've been unconscious since Robards found you on his doorstep without a wand and covered in blood," Harry says as he paces. "That was two days ago. He brought you here and contacted me. You had been bled, but there were no markings on your neck. Your body healed them on its own."

Draco says nothing, and his gaze drops to Harry's feet as he walks. He's wearing a pair of Dragonhide boots that cost probably as much as the rent on a small flat, but they're flat and dull, and the leather hasn't been conditioned in far too long. 

"There was blood on your lips and in your mouth. You'd been fed. By a vampire. More than likely, it saved your life." Harry stops pacing and turns to face him. He bites his lower lip—another annoying habit Draco hates—and stuffs his hands into his pocket. "Draco, do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

Draco tries to swallow, but his mouth is completely dry. He brushes a lock of his hair behind his ear, noticing how strange it feels against his neck, how heavy the fabric of clothes feels against his skin. His gaze is drawn again to the flagon on the countertop.

"It's blood isn't it?" 

"It's a potion," Gawain says, pulling out the chair on Draco's left and sitting next to him. It's the closest contact he's been allowed to either of them since he woke up in this hell. "You're right, though. There is blood in it. Vampire blood. More than likely from the vampire who bit you."

Draco runs his hands through his hair, repeatedly, and then wonders if it would be too insane to simply yank it from his scalp. 

Beside him, Gawain is still speaking. "It was found with you, under a Stasis Charm."

Draco looks up at Gawain, noting for the first time that Gawain's eyes are swollen and red, the skin beneath smudged with grey, and the lines around them stand out starkly. 

"I've been bitten." Draco's voice is so small that any other time he would have been mortified to hear it, but now… he doesn't appear to be feeling anything at all. 

Gawain seems unable to speak, so Harry answers instead. "Somehow, you survived," he says. "Wizards generally don't."

"But I'm not… turned? I—I don't understand."

Harry sits again and leans across the table. "It's a complicated process to turn a wizard," he says. "We think this potion is a part of it." 

Harry pauses, apparently to allow Draco a moment to process, or ask questions, or whatever the fuck, but all Draco can seem to do is stare at Harry's gloved fingertips, resting on his dining table.

"It seems the potion is designed to help your magic stop fighting against the process of your turn, as it's doing now. That's why you feel so awful, Draco." Harry gestures to the potion. "Drinking it will… complete the process."

"Complete the process," Draco says in a wooden voice. 

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "I'm not the best at… explaining things."

Draco looks blankly at him, but Harry calmly meets his gaze. "There's more." 

"Oh," Draco says weakly. "Is there?" 

Harry's gaze flicks to the potion and back. "My handler believes that a connection will exist between you and your sire. A mental or sometimes physical connection. You will have to rely on your Occlumency to keep your mind safe. We don't completely understand how it works." Harry pauses, then he sighs deeply. "Honestly, we have no fucking idea exactly _what_ will happen. We can only guess and speculate. There are only a handful of vampires in the world with magical blood, and that's probably for good reason."

Draco looks up. His gaze seeks Gawain's but finds nothing but pain there. "So, I have a choice," Draco says. 

Harry hesitates. "Not… exactly?" He looks at Draco incredulously. "Draco, if you don't take it, you'll die."

Draco shakes his head. "If I take it, I'll turn."

"You'll be _alive_ ," Harry says. "I prefer you alive."

Draco looks up, and Harry's green eyes are wide. He looks as though he's almost on the verge of pouring potion down Draco's throat himself and, for some reason, this makes Draco smile. 

Draco wandlessly Summons the flagon, and it sails into his palm, cold and innocuous. He unscrews the cap and peers inside. The blood is so dark it is almost black. He expected it to be thick and viscous, but it seems quite thin.

Harry puts a hand on Draco's wrist. "Draco… your home in Somerset was breached." 

Draco almost drops the flask, but Harry steadies his hands. His face burns, the way it always does when he's about to utterly lose his shit. " _How?_ "

"Your wards fell. We think your magical signature has changed since the bite. We simply don't know enough to say for sure. But Padma was unprotected." Harry pauses. "There's every chance she was taken alive. From the looks of the cottage, we know she didn't go easily."

"No." Draco gently takes his hands away from Harry's grasp and lifts the flagon to his mouth. "She wouldn't have."

Slowly, he becomes aware of new scents: Gawain's cologne, the sharp tang of ginger tea, remnants of mince pies and treacle tart. Draco sits up in bed and peers around his room, strangely bemused at the idea of either Harry or Gawain bringing him here, laying him beneath the coverlet, and leaving him to become… what he's become. He wonders, without any true measure of curiosity, how long the process had taken. 

He reaches, without thought, for his wand, and his stomach drops when he remembers it is not there. It is the second time in his life he has been parted from it, but this time seems somehow much worse than the last. He has no memory of it being taken. This time, it may never be returned. 

When he swings his legs over the bed and stands, he becomes suddenly dizzy and has to clutch the bedpost for balance. He forces himself to take slow, steady breaths, closes his eyes, and counts to ten. The flow of blood in his veins has trickled to a dull crawl, and his pulse is alarmingly slow. Still, his magic stirs in his veins, warm and strong and startlingly bright. He lifts his palm and studies it, almost certain he can see the sharp swirls of power twirling around his fingertips, wispy and grey, and eager to be used.

But beneath all of this is the hunger.

The moment he thinks of it, it opens its maw, as though it had been patiently waiting to be properly acknowledged, and the strength of it makes him gasp and almost sends him to his knees. 

It plants the first seeds of despair in his mind, ones he knows will only take root and grow. The thought that all his life's purpose has become this: his thirst. The pursuit of quenching it. The ache of feeling it. The mastery of controlling it. The thirst will remain, persistently replenishing itself, controlling every aspect of his life. His job, his friends, anything he could have become—all of these things are now dead. 

Draco harshly wipes his face, alarmed by the tear tracks on his cheeks. There is no time to mourn this loss of his natural self. He failed his mission, and now his partner is missing. 

Gawain and Harry are arguing in the kitchen. The sounds come to him as if they were close enough to touch with his fingertips. Harry is grinding his teeth, but his heart rate is strangely calm. Gawain's pulse is racing. He tries not to think about that, to not think about Gawain's blood, but that only makes him feel unmoored and confused, like a duck refusing to swim. 

Gawain is his friend and his mentor—someone who believed in him before anyone else. Yet he is not immune as a target of Draco's thirst. 

Harry smells of magic, and leather— a lightning storm or thunder, of dirt when there is fresh rain. Draco pulls his mind away before it drowns him, instead focusing on the crackle of the hearth. Someone has lit his fireplace, though it can't have been more than a few hours since he drank the potion.

Draco slips into his bathroom to wash his face. As he walks in, he catches his reflection in the mirror and halts, stunned. He is only thirty-six, and the lines on his face were few and far between, but now there are none. His skin is supple and flawless—even the long, jagged scar across jawline has disappeared. The cut of his cheekbones is sharper than before, and the curve of his mouth is full and round. His shoulder-length hair is thicker, and his eyes, already bright before, radiate a cold, icy glow. 

He looks about bloody twenty-five, and everything about it is entirely unnerving. To look in the mirror and not recognise himself hurts more than he ever expected. He looks away and splashes his face with water, then focuses his hearing the conversation again. It's peculiar how naturally the instinct comes, how easily he understands how to filter out the background noise—the raindrops on the window pane outside, the footsteps of an ambitious runner making their way down the street—to follow Harry and Gawain's heated conversation.

" _… let your team go rogue with no fucking support?!_ "

" _I supported my best agents._ "

" _Let's not get into that again. What's the very last thing you knew, before all this shit went down?_ "

" _Vyken was hiding something. Draco was certain the Muggles were alive, hidden at the coven, but he couldn't prove it. But Vyken wouldn't let him out of his sight._ "

" _And you didn't think that was cause for extraction?_ "

" _Vyken was_ obsessed _with Draco. He wanted him for himself. I understood the psychology we were working with. Draco hadn't been made…._ "

Something nudges hard at Draco's mental shields, and he lurches forward, gripping the edges of the sink. Somehow, without thinking, he knows it's his sire trying to find him. With a hard mental _shove_ , Draco pushes him resolutely out, and closes the door to his mind, imagining a thick, black metal gate, the way he'd learned to when he was only seventeen. 

He slowly makes his way into the living room, keeping one hand on the wall for support, and stops short in the hallway. Harry is waiting for him in the living room alone.

"Robards left," Harry says with a shrug. "He says he'll call on you tomorrow."

Draco crosses the room to his sofa and starts tossing throw pillows on to the floor so he can sit. "You must have really pissed him off." 

"Erm—" Harry gestures vaguely, and Draco laughs.

Draco drops onto the sofa and hugs the one remaining throw pillow to his chest. "I always knew it was you, you know," he says. 

"Tell that to your face when I took off my Hood." Harry says, pulling a chair from the dining room set and walking over to Draco with it. 

"Fuck off," Draco says. "It's not my fault you've got so many tells."

"I do not have tells!"

"Not to mention, you called me Draco. More than once."

"I… okay… point." Harry turns the chair around and straddles it, sitting opposite Draco, but close enough to touch. He gazes at Draco, mouth slightly open.

"Stop staring," Draco says, feeling his face heat. Being a vampire might actually be quite useless if he still has the tendency to blush. 

"Draco, have you looked at yourself in a mirror?" Harry asks, his mouth curving upwards into a devilish smile. "I mean… that is… you do still have a reflection, don't you?" 

Draco gapes at him. "It's too soon for jokes, you wanker!" He says incredulously. "You are the world's biggest prat." 

Harry laughs and leans his elbows on the backrest of his chair. "No, really, you look…." 

"Undead?"

" … Very much alive."

"No, I'm sure I was right the first time." 

"You're never right when you describe yourself," Harry says. "I should know." 

Draco says nothing to this, certain it'll take them into Dangerous Territory entirely too soon. He takes the moment to observe Harry while he can. He's still in his dark robes, though he's ditched the Hood entirely. His usually unruly hair is cut shorter in the back and longer over top in the same stylish cut he started wearing a few years back, though it's a bit more grown out than he'd usually wear it. His eyes look tired and worn, but as always, he is bloody gorgeous—infuriatingly so.

On instinct, Draco takes a deep breath, but he cannot catch the scent of him. Probably for the best. 

As if reading his mind, Harry gestures to himself. "Scent concealment. I cast it when I heard you coming. I thought it would help."

"How generous."

"Don't start." Harry reaches out and touches Draco's temple gently. Draco doesn't flinch. 

"Are you okay in there?" Harry says. "Did you feel anything?" 

"Oh, there was something," Draco says. "Exactly what we were expecting. But I've locked him out. We're fine." 

Harry leans back, studying him. His lower lip is red and bruised from where he's been worrying it with his teeth. It's a nervous habit Draco's seen him indulge any time he's worried or feeling helpless. "How are you, Draco. Really?"

"I'm worried about Padma," Draco says quietly. "If Vyken was angry enough to try to kill me… and we both know it was him, we _need_ to find her now." 

"I will do everything I can, I swear to you. But we don't have much to work with." 

Draco rubs his temples with his fingers. "I can't remember…." 

"I can help you with that," Harry says. "Though you won't like it much."

Draco looks up as the realisation begins to dawn on him. "You're a Legilimens? That's what Gawain meant?" he asks incredulously. 

"Yes."

"Of course. Of course you are. Can't protect your own mind for shit, but _of course_ you would master Legilimency," Draco says. "I still hate you, by the way, just in case you thought that had changed." 

Harry gives him a small smile. "No, you don't." 

"Why were you giving Gawain such a bloody hard time, then?" Draco cries. "If you can just hop into my mind to get what we need." 

"First of all, it's _really_ not that easy," Harry says with a frown. "And second of all, I was hard on _Gawain_ because this was a massive cock-up." 

"I was only doing my job!"

Harry sighs, and shakes his head impatiently. "I'll never understand why you _always_ think you have to place yourself in the line of fire."

"You're one to talk."

Harry clenches his jaw shut and looks away. 

Draco takes a deep breath, knowing he's hit a nerve. "I don't want to argue with you," he says. "Will you be able to recover my memories?" 

Harry hesitates. "That's actually my job," he says quietly. "With the Department of Mysteries, I mean. I deal with… memory. At least, most of the time." 

"So, you really _are_ stuck in a lab all day. No wonder you're so tetchy."

"I am _not_ stuck in a lab. There aren't even any labs!" Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, and Draco notices for the first time that he's removed his leather gloves. "Either way, you're right. You're a gifted Occlumens and a bloody wizard. A vampire wouldn't be able to beguile you so completely that you'll never remember." Harry gives him a measured look. "Maybe there was physical trauma, and this amnesia is temporary. I think some things will begin to come back to you on their own. I'm just worried about time."

Draco closes his eyes and sees Padma's smiling face as she thanks him for extra takeout, even as she tosses a mushroom at his head for being an arsehole about something or the other. 

"Let's start tonight."

"No," Harry says quickly. "You need to rest. I'm not breaking into your mind when you can barely hold your head up."

There's a brief silence, and Draco inadvertently tunes in to the sound of Harry's heartbeat and the steady pulse of his blood thrumming through his veins. He takes a shallow breath through his mouth as his thirst beckons, and he leans further back into the cushions to create more distance between them. 

"So," Harry says, breaking the uneasy quiet. "You were never really sacked." 

Draco raises an eyebrow. " _You're_ a fucking Unspeakable." 

Harry sighs. "I couldn't tell you," he murmurs. "I couldn't tell anyone."

"I know that," Draco says. "And I knew you were unhappy in the department." At Harry's surprised look, Draco huffs beneath his breath. "You were my partner; how could I miss that?"

"You missed a lot of things."

Draco stares at him for a moment but refuses to take the bait. There's no use going _there_. Not now. "After you left, it was like you disappeared." Draco looks down at his palms in his lap. "I thought maybe you didn't want to see me," Draco adds quietly, annoyed with himself for even bringing it up. When he dares to look up again, Harry's gazing at him with a soft expression that makes Draco's breaths grow short. 

"It wasn't that I didn't want to see you," Harry says. "I just thought it was best we… took some time apart. Figure out… where things were." He shakes his head ruefully. "Time seemed to get away from us both after that. Then you got sacked."

"I wasn't sacked." Draco fixes his gaze at a spot on the soft white rug beneath Harry's sofa. "I was so angry when you left," he says, scratching his nose and avoiding Harry's gaze at all costs. "I thought no one would partner with me. But Padma did. She volunteered. No one else would. And now she's…." His throat closes, and he scrubs his face with his palms. 

Harry scoots his chair closer. "We will find her, Draco. I swear to you." 

Draco nods, but doesn't meet Harry's eyes. "The press thinks I was sacked. And now that I'm… what I am… and they suspect me of turning on the department." Draco shakes his head. "I'll never be an Auror again."

"You don't know that." 

"They'll take everything I worked for." 

"Robards won't let that happen."

Draco gives Harry a dark look. "You overestimate how much control he has," he says. "You remember what it was like. All the bureaucratic rubbish. Dawlish belongs in Azkaban, but thanks to my father, he has a seat on the Wizengamot." Draco hastily wipes his face. When he speaks again, his voice is thick. "Gawain's made a lot of enemies over the years, Harry. Including Lucius. You've always been so fucking hard on him, but you don't know what he's been through."

Harry tilts his head, studying him. "And you're… really soft on him."

"Don't start with that either." The tension between Harry and Gawain had always been a like a small pebble caught in his shoe: pesky and irritating and entirely unnecessary. "Not now" 

Harry tosses him his patented _innocent school boy_ look. "Just making an observation."

"Gawain gave me a chance when no one else would," Draco says. "Not even you."

Harry deftly hops of his chair and sits on the sofa next to Draco instead. "You're right." His gaze is filled with apologies that Draco doesn't deserve. "I'm sorry." He gently rests his fingertips on the back of Draco's palm as if testing the waters. Draco wants to respond, he wants to reach out and touch him back and bury himself in the warmth of Harry's body, he wants to sink his teeth—

Draco snatches his hand away; Harry doesn't comment on it.

"Besides," Draco continues as if the moment hadn't happened at all. "You know the official Ministry rules. No dark creatures allowed, remember?" 

"We both know someone who'd have a lot to say about that." 

Draco smiles briefly. "She's your handler, isn't she?" 

"If I told you who my handler is, I'd have to kill you." 

Draco kicks Harry's leather-clad calf with his foot, and Harry laughs. "Her codename is MacGyver. You remember that show we all watched on DVD after our first year of exams?" Draco nods, and a vague memory of a drunken group of trainees huddled around a too-small television floods his mind. "She made that earpiece Padma gave you." 

"I should have known." 

"Ron helps, too. We outsource a lot of work to the shop. I'm glad I don't have to keep secrets from them." Harry smiles. "Now I don't have to keep any from you." 

They share a heated look, and then he gets a wave of Harry's scent even through the concealment charms he placed to hide it, and the urge to _have_ Harry, to _taste_ him, to properly wreck him the way he's always fucking wanted to slams hard into his chest. 

Harry reaches to touch his shoulder again, and with lightning fast speed, Draco grabs Harry's wrist, preventing the contact. Hardly conscious of his own actions, Draco pushes up the edge of Harry's sleeve, baring his wrist. It's covered with at least a dozen threaded bracelets, some interwoven with silk, others with leather and brown cotton, each faintly pulsing with latent magic. Draco slips his fingers beneath them and pushes them up and out of the way. Harry's skin is warm, and soft, and Draco has to close his eyes against the compulsion to sink his teeth into the delicate spot.

He lowers both their hands, his body taut with the tension of holding himself very still. When Draco opens his eyes again, Harry's face is so very close to him, those piercing green eyes only a breath away. Even in the strange darkness of the room, Draco can see every colour in them, the flecks of brown and gold, the depth and warmth of emerald. How many times has he looked into those eyes and wanted to _say_ everything, wanted to tell Harry all the things he deserves to know? Now all of that was over. Except the want.

But even the want has been corrupted. 

"Draco." Harry's voice is low and commanding. He remains, as always, effortlessly and consistently in control. "I can't tell you how much I wish this didn't happen to you."

Draco turns over Harry's palm, observing the scar on the back of his hand. 

_I must not tell lies._

"Me too."

Harry's rapid pulse thrums against Draco's fingertips. It's the measure of his heart. Harry's skin is soft and delicate. How easy it would be to pierce it with his teeth. At the mere thought of it, the shape of Draco's mouth begins to change as the length of his canines descend.

Harry breathes in sharply, observing all this with wide eyes. The air between them shifts, becomes charged with heat and want. 

"You should go." It feels strange even to speak, to feel the sharp brush of canines against his lips. 

"All right," Harry says. But he doesn't move. 

Draco pushes himself away and hunches his shoulders. "Harry, please." 

There's no response, and Draco can only sit there with his eyes closed, imagining all the things he wants. Everything he could possibly do to the man beside him.

When he opens his eyes again, Harry is gone.

**INTERLUDE**

_Twelve years ago_

"Partner assignments are in," Draco says. "Did you see?"

Harry looks up from his mobile, then glances back down as it dings with another message from Seamus.

_I'm worried. He won't use his wand._

Harry closes his eyes briefly as his fingers hover over the keys. He doesn't know what to say this time. He's never been good at soothing people.

His mobile vibrates again.

_I don't know how to help him._

Harry takes another moment to think, and then he types: _Give him time._

Harry sends the message, locks his mobile, and then pushes himself off the wall. "Yeah." Harry slips his mobile into his pocket and spares Draco a quick glance. "I got the owl this morning."

He falls into step with Draco as they both head into their final session of training before their formal induction to the Auror Corps. It's more of a Ministry gala than anything, and in expectation of being forced into a tedious amount of excruciating small talk with the higher ups, he dressed casually in a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved black tee.

Draco, of course, is dressed in a distractingly snug white shirt and grey slacks that enhance the curve of his tight arse. For the millionth time, Harry has to remind himself that ogling Draco isn't the best way to progress their relationship. At least… not in the professional direction. Which, of course, is the only direction he wants to go.

Partners. Co-workers. Friends.

Right.

He isn't surprised that he was partnered with Draco. The few times they've worked together in the field, Robards himself commented on their synergy. Draco always seems to know what Harry is thinking, and he can read the room faster than anyone Harry has ever worked with. When he isn't being an intolerable git—which he still can be from time to time—he is actually quite interesting to be around.

He is never exactly pleasant or friendly, that would be asking too much, but Draco keeps him on his toes and never accepts anything other than Harry's best, which is what he needs in a partner anyway.

After too much silence, Draco says, "I'm sure Ga-Robards will reassign you if you ask." He stuffs his hands into his pockets, refusing to look at Harry as they round the corner to the lift.

A muscle twitches in Draco's jaw, and Harry has to bite his lip to suppress a smile. For all that he pretends to be unbothered by what Harry or anyone thinks of him, Draco is a right sensitive little bugger.

As they pause to wait for the lift, Harry deliberately puts his arm on Draco's forearm to make him stop staring a hole into the dim yellow arrows above the lift doors and actually look at Harry instead.

When Draco looks up and catches Harry's gaze, his grey eyes are bright and vulnerable, and Harry's chest aches in the strange way it does when he catches sight of Ginny across the room with her new boyfriend.

"Draco," he says quietly. "I think we'll make a great team."

Draco's shoulders relax a fraction, and then he nods stiffy. "Then why the face? Would you have preferred Weasley?"

Draco's voice is deceptively light, and Harry tilts his head to study his expression. His mouth is pinched, the tips of his ears flushed.

Draco's persistent need to compare himself to Ron is perplexing.

Harry wishes he could tell him there's no need for it. No one can replace Ron—no one can compare—but Harry has a lot of room in his life for friends. Draco's place would never depend on anyone else, or how long Harry had known them. There's no scorecard on which he has to compete.

But since Harry can never think of a way to express this without insulting him, he's never tried. "I don't think Ron is going to be with us much longer."

Draco's eyebrows shoot upwards. "What does that mean?"

"He'll be wanting to spend more time at home I expect." Harry glances around, grateful they're alone. "He and Hermione are expecting."

The lift dings and the doors open with a groan, and they both step in. "Though I wasn't supposed to tell you that, so let's keep this between us."

"Of course." Draco presses the button decisively and leans against the metal bar behind him. "Something's going on though," he says. "You look worried."

Harry sighs and pushes his sleeves up to his elbows. "It's Dean."

"Oh." Draco simply gazes at him sombrely, slipping his lower lip between his teeth in the most distracting fashion. "I'm sorry to hear that," he says with careful politeness. "Is he still not… readjusting?"

"No." Harry swallows, trying to dispel the sudden thickness in his throat. "Seamus isn't taking it well."

Draco glances at the roof of the lift as it changes direction and takes them sideways, clanking and groaning loudly as the gears shift. "I remember with my mother. It was… difficult." His gaze flicks to Harry and back. "It's incomparable," he adds hastily. "She still practises magic, of course…. But, I—I'm sorry he's having hard time."

"Thanks," Harry says. "Really, that means a lot."

Harry runs his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it, and Draco follows the movement with his gaze. Caching his eye, Harry drops his hands and pokes Draco in the shoulder. "Don't. Say. Anything."

Draco raises his palms, but his mouth twitches in amusement. "I wasn't going to."

"Sure you weren't. And you were doing so well." Harry straightens his T-shirt, suddenly self-conscious. Perhaps he should have gone more formal and worn a shirt like Draco did. But he hates stuffy shirts, and besides Hermione said he looked—

"Harry." Draco's voice pulls him out of his head. His gaze is fixed on Harry, and without warning, Harry can feel his whole-body flush embarrassingly. "You look fine."

The elevator doors open, and together, they step into the atrium, side by side.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco

Draco braces himself against the gust of chill wind and takes a deep breath as he zips his coat closed right up to his scruffy chin. He stamps his feet in the snow and darkly contemplates how bad it would be to break his no-smoking-on-the-job rule in the middle of an undercover op. 

He has no earthly idea where the coven is located—he was blindfolded, and his ears plugged on the journey here—but wherever they are, it's beautiful. The sky is startlingly clear, the air crisp. The property is littered with at least thirty solid oak cabins, their roofs steeped in heavy snow.

When a bone-deep shiver hits him hard, he gives in to his craving, telling himself it's only for warmth, and warmth is a necessity. He lights a fag with a lighter loaned to him by one of the burly vampires who seem to serve honour guard for Vyken. No one has asked him to surrender his wand, but it seems unwise to cast here. Most of the vampires seem to have no familiarity with magic or wizards, and though most of them are friendly enough, he can tell they're intimidated. 

There's only one fag left in the box—as soon as this is over, he's going to _kill_ Padma for chucking his stash—so he savours each breath. As he exhales thick smoke into the air, his gaze is drawn to beauty of the sky and the lasts gasps of a dying sunset, smudged with purple and grey. 

The landscape is lush, and whatever isn't covered in white is a vivid, healthy green. The property is hemmed in on either side by snowy mountains laden with snow flecked beech, spruce, and fir trees. Every now and then, the echo of cracking ice cuts through the silence.

Not for the first time, he begins to doubt himself and his mission. Did he come to save Muggles? The only Muggles he has come across are the Givers who live at the coven by choice, and a few others who seem to be in committed relationships with some of the vampires. 

He supposes the missing Muggles _could_ be hidden somewhere, drugged-up or dead, but it's proving difficult to keep this in mind when all he's seen here are… people. _Families_ who live in a closely-knit, insular community, as any other group would. They share food, and recipes, and casserole dishes, and laundry detergent, and sugar. 

At first, the abundance of food had thrown Draco, because he believed in all of the myths about vampires—that they did not eat, that they would die in sunlight, that they were repelled by garlic, and a stake to the heart was their only lethality—but he quickly learned that none of these myths were true. Vampires can eat—in fact, they spend a lot of time doing so; no one avoids the sun; they cook with high doses of garlic and seem genuinely unafraid of stakes of wood. 

Each log cabin brims with energy and life and smoke churning from the chimneys—the sound of televisions, laughter, of people milling about, living their lives. 

Vampires, but still _people_

Draco takes a final drag then stubs the cigarette out beneath his boot just in time for the sound of heavy footsteps crunching the snow to edge in closer. Vyken said he would give him half an hour to think, and it seems that reprieve is coming to an end.

Draco stuffs his hands into his pockets and shivers as a sharp breeze rustles the long hair at his nape. He turns in the direction of his visitor, unsurprised that it's Vyken himself. 

Even if he weren't a vampire, Vyken would be striking. His broad shoulders and solid stature alone are enough to make people take notice of him, but his strong jaw, sharp brows, and aquiline nose make it even harder to not to stare. It doesn't help that whenever Vyken's amber gaze finds Draco's, it does not easily let go. 

Vyken stops beside him, holding himself rigid and firm like a lord in his manor, and Draco has to look up to meet his eyes.

"Aren't you freezing out here, Pure-blood?" 

Draco hunches his shoulders and looks across at the cluster of cabins, anything to escape that amber regard. "Don't call me that," he says. 

"Apologies," Vyken says with a small smile. "Most wizards like to be reminded."

"Your view on wizards seems a little outdated." 

Vyken doesn't respond, even though it looks as though he has very much to say. He kicks at Draco's cigarette butt then leans over to pick it up. "There is a type of magic, isn't there? For disposing of this?" 

Draco's face flames as he mumbles an apology and Vanishes the cigarette butt with his wand. "I didn't think you'd want me using magic."

Vyken studies him with a bemused expression. "I'm not _anti-magic_ , you know. I'm just—we all are—very wary of you, still." 

"You're wary of… _me?_ "

"You're a wizard, aren't you?" 

Draco can't think of a way to respond to this, but Vyken doesn't seem to expect a reply. He looks toward the sunset and his dark blond curls rustle in the breeze, exposing the sharp cuts of his high cheekbones. His eyes are pinched, tired, yet he seems alert and on guard. "Our home is not what you expected," Vyken says without looking at Draco. 

"I don't know what I expected." 

Vyken smiles faintly. "You expected chains, dark caverns." He turns to Draco, his eyes glinting with amusement. "A shocking abundance of velvet and suede."

Draco laughs. "Maybe."

"We're a family here. More so because we've chosen each other." Vyken raises an eyebrow. "Can you understand that?"

There was a time during his Auror training when Draco had thought he'd found something similar. But that was temporary. After they'd all been partnered up, and then when Harry had left the department, all the connections he'd made had slowly eroded. With the exception of Padma, who was tied to him because of their work, those he thought had become his friends became again, acquaintances. 

In Draco's experience, the idea of family is largely temporary. 

He runs a deliberately self-conscious hand through his hair. Better to let Vyken think he's having a deep internal struggle rather than the sharp sting of plain old jealousy. "I can't say that I do."

"I know it's hard for you to believe with the way your community has abandoned you, but you _can_ find family here. If you wanted." Draco remains silent, and Vyken continues to fill the silence. "It's the reason I do what I do." He nods to the cabins before them. "This place is precious to me." 

They both take a moment to gaze at well-worn paths in the snow woven between the cabins and littered with footprints and sled marks. A cabin door opens, and a tall, lean man Draco doesn't recognise steps briskly out into the snow. His long auburn hair catches in the brisk wind as his navy-blue cloak billows about him, and he stills when he spots Draco across the snow. He gazes back with a quiet regard that makes Draco's skin tingle with its intensity. 

He looks a few years younger than Draco; light ginger stubble dusts the surface of his strong jawline, his eyes a striking pale blue even in the distance. His expression is caught between aristocratic disdain and world-weariness as he pins Draco down with his eyes and doesn't let him go.

"His name is Jules," Vyken says quietly. "He was banished from his coven a few years ago. He sought refuge here." 

Something about Jules' penetrating glare draws him in, and Draco finds it hard to look away. "Banished. Seems kind of medieval, doesn't it?" He tears his glance away from Jules and feels strangely bereft for it. "Have _you_ ever banished someone?"

Vyken hesitates. "Yes." He avoids Draco's gaze, and instead looks back towards Jules who turns abruptly and walks away. "Once."

Draco doesn't probe further; though there are a wealth of stories in Vyken's troubled gaze, he must tread carefully to uncover them. "Do you know why he was banished?" 

"His family is very close knit and secretive. Born vampires are even better at keeping secrets than the rest of us." 

Draco can't even try to hide his surprise. "Born vampires?" 

Vyken watches Jules walk away for a moment, and then gives Draco his full attention. "There's so much you don't know about our world," he says. "Wizards and vampires don't always get along. I'm hoping that you can help me change that." 

"Jules doesn't agree with you, does he?" Draco observes Jules retreating figure, until he disappears into the long cabin they use as ‘family dining hall.' "He doesn't want me here." 

"Jules is… suspicious by nature." Vyken tries to soften his words with a smile, but he fails. He seems to realise this and adds with a wry grin, "No, he doesn't like it that you are here." 

"Are you suspicious of me?" 

Vyken studies him carefully. "I'll know soon enough if I can trust you." He inches closer, and Draco's breath catches. "Be calm, Draco. I only need you to tell me what you've decided. If this is not what you want, I won't hold it against you."

Draco makes a show of hesitating, not wanting to seem too eager. "I came here to be a part of your coven," he says. "I want to do this. I want to be a Giver." 

Vyken studies him for a moment. "It's a rare gift," he says quietly. "A Giver with magical blood. You'll forgive me if I want keep you to myself." 

Vyken smiles down at him, and it softens his features, makes his eyes kind. There's nothing in his face now that resembles a killer's. Nothing to indicate that Vyken is the one stealing Muggles, keeping them in the coven against their will. 

But Draco knows better. He's looked into eyes more beautiful and seen the deepest kinds of cruelty. He will have to be careful. 

He will have to resist things he hadn't been prepared to resist. 

Vyken takes two deliberate steps towards him, gently tugs at Draco's zipper and pulls it down, exposing the curve of Draco's Adam's apple, and Draco's heartbeat thuds a hasty staccato.

"What… here?" 

"We have no need to hide." Vyken cups Draco's cheek with a surprisingly warm palm, and leans in, brushing his nose against Draco's collarbone, _smelling_ him. Draco clutches at his shoulders, and Vyken murmurs, "Relax."

All the muscles in Draco's body seem to slacken, and the ligaments turn loose until Vyken's strength is all that's holding him up. 

Vyken smiles against his skin. "I'll catch you if you fall." 

The sharp cut of Vyken's teeth piercing his flesh is nothing compared to the shock of how _good_ it feels. Pleasure surges through his body like a wave of heat, making every inch of him hypersensitive, and every touch of Vyken's fingers against his skin makes his dick twitch in his jeans.

Draco opens his eyes and looks to the sky, noting with a distant fascination that the sun has entirely disappeared, and it is now completely night.

*

When Draco opens his eyes again, he's met by Harry's troubled gaze. They sit across each other in the same dining room where they faced each other just the day before, except today Harry isn't dressed in Unspeakable gear and sporting a Hood. It's simply him, in a grey Henley and tight jeans and week-old stubble across his jaw. His bright green eyes pierce into Draco's heart and lay him bare as they've always done. 

As, Draco expects, they always will.

"Are you all right?" Harry asks.

"Give me a moment." Draco closes his eyes and rubs his knuckles along his sternum. For some reason the action soothes him, calms the hunger that's always there like a second skin. 

It doesn't help that Harry's throat is bare, that his blood is warm, that he's young and thriving, full of energy and life. 

Harry pushes his chair around the edge of the table, edging closer, but Draco isn't sure he can handle him being too close right now. 

"Don't." 

Harry stops only a few inches away and rests his palm on Draco's knee. "It's all right," he says quietly. "I used concealment charms."

Draco huffs a wet laugh, unable to express how much this does not matter. How Draco knows Harry's scent by memory, how he only needs to think of it for it to fill the room. He runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth and takes a breath. 

They haven't spoken about it—and Merlin knows if Harry tries, Draco will shut him down—but soon Draco will have to feed. He has no idea, not even the slightest clue, what he's going to do. He simply can't fathom the entire process, what it will take for him to—

"You went too far," Draco says, pushing himself away from the table—away from Harry. "That was the first time, I hadn't learned anything by that point." 

Harry studies him quietly for a moment, pointedly looking at the space between them, and then he runs his fingers through his hair. "It's kind of a trial and error, Draco. I don't exactly know what I'm looking for."

Draco leaves the table and walks the few paces to his kitchen, hoping to escape to the fridge and hide for at least a moment. Harry follows him, saying nothing, and pushes himself to sit on the marble-top island in the centre of the room—an action that would have had Draco kicking him the shins only a few weeks ago. Now, he couldn't care less. 

He is surprised that his hunger pangs don't only exist for blood, but also food, and strangely… a vast amount of dark chocolate. He asked Harry to bring him a couple bars on his way over, and he grabs one from the refrigerator and peels back the foil.

"Have you eaten anything else since yesterday?" Harry asks with a raised eyebrow. 

Draco gives him a hard look. "No," he says darkly, "but I've _thought_ about eating a few things." 

Harry's face flames, but he bravely keeps Draco's gaze. "Are we going to talk about that?"

"No. We're not."

Harry presses his lips together, and a muscle in his jaw twitches, but he holds his palms up in surrender. "All right. Let's talk about what I just saw instead." 

"It was nothing. You should go back in. We need to move faster."

"Maybe it was nothing for you, but I learned a few things," Harry says carefully. "You told me Padma didn't go in because you would be less suspicious. But it was more than that, wasn't it?" 

Draco takes a bite of chocolate and shrugs. "You might be surprised to hear this, but even Aurors consider things like human psychology and behaviour when we make decisions. There were several variables—"

"You knew Vyken would want to fuck you." 

Draco wraps up the rest of his chocolate and tosses it back into the fridge, then flicks on his coffee maker, keeping his back to Harry. "We had surmised that he would… probably be interested in doing that, yes."

"So not only were you going to risk your magic for this, you were going to let that happen. For months."

"I was doing my job." 

"Your job…." Harry says dryly. "That's right, I forgot, Draco Malfoy always has to go the extra mile to prove himself. But this? Look what's happened!"

Draco whips around, feeling a strong urge to toss Harry across the room. "I do _have_ to do more, Harry! I always will! More than you—" He stops himself and takes a calming breath. "No. You are not going to goad me into this argument again. You know how I feel, and I know how you feel. We'll never see eye to eye on this. I know that. Right now, we need to think about Padma." 

"You're right." Harry holds up his palms again. "You're right. I'm sorry." 

"Apology accepted."

Harry eyes him for a moment. "You started to sympathise with them," he says carefully. "With the life you saw in the coven."

Draco reaches into his cupboard and pulls out two Holyhead Harpies mugs that Harry had given him years ago. He sets them gently on the countertop and trails his fingertip across the rim of his. "I guess I did." He pours them each a cup of coffee and drops two sugars into Harry's before handing it to him and taking up his own. "We never see the full story, do we? All we'd ever heard about them is that they drank blood and killed people and lived in the shadows. But how many do we actually know?" 

Harry sips his coffee, and then holds the mug between his palm as he studies Draco with a curious expression. "The reason you went in is because you suspected them of either keeping Muggles captive against their will or murdering them."

"Not _them_ , Harry. We suspected Vyken. We don't know that the entire coven is involved, or that they even know what he is doing." Draco looks down into his coffee mug just to avoid Harry's knowing gaze. "Instead I found a family. A family that accepted me. They didn't pry. They didn't ask me why I was there. They just calmly accepted me as part of them." 

Draco takes a long sip of his coffee, afraid to look up again, knowing what he's going to see in Harry's eyes. Not pity. Never that. But compassion. A _knowing_ compassion. 

"There's no good or bad, Harry. We just all seem to exist somewhere in the middle." Draco forces himself to meet Harry's gaze, and he forces a smile. "Somehow we keep forgetting that."

The dream comes to him with muted sounds, as though he is underwater with a giant music box hovering over the surface. It pulses in his chest just like the ones in the Muggle clubs in London. The ones he went to with Harry and Granger and Weasley, Padma and Luna, Seamus, Theo. One large mismatched group of dumb young witches and wizards just out of school, trying too hard to pretend they weren't once on opposite sides of a war. 

Back then, he was blindingly fascinated by the lights and the people—the way they dressed and moved. He would take grave measures to avoid Harry—always afraid that under the influence of alcohol he would say something stupid, and the friendship he'd been desperate for would be ruined. 

As he thinks of this, the dream begins to feel more like a memory. He is pressed between bodies on a dance floor, surrounded by warmth and heat and sex and life. Then further still, the dream-memory turns and shifts, becomes a not-dream—neither imagination nor a fantasy, but something that is happening now. 

He is here, but not here. 

Draco walks through the crowd, feeling indelibly drawn forward, his footsteps pulled as if by an invisible string—a million tiny invisible strings, all tied to his body. His hips, his thighs, his hair—everything pulls forward to that one spot where, before him, the crowd parts, and there is Harry. 

It was always going to be Harry. 

He's been the object of many of Draco's dreams and fantasies and thoughts, but never before has it been like this. A moment in time—happening now and having already happened. Harry is on the dance floor, his grey Henley marked with sweat, swaying with his eyes closed, his chin tilted towards the ceiling, hair damp, mouth slack with reckless abandon. 

The length of his neck is exposed and even in the strangeness of this space—the dream-not-dream—Draco can smell him, the petrichor of him, the earthiness of his magic, the musk of his sweat. There's a sliver of skin beneath Harry's T-shirt growing more exposed the more he moves—a tanned line of taut stomach. Harry's hands are in the air, and the sliver of skin becomes larger, and then smaller, and larger again as his jeans move with his body, a trail of dark hair disappearing and reappearing in a strangely hypnotising game of peek-a-boo. 

Draco has never been more mesmerised, stuck so still in his life. The strings around his body seem to tighten, seems to anchor him to that one spot as if to say _this is where you belong._

He doesn't understand this moment—cannot fathom how in the same moment he is here, he is also in his king-sized bed, under 300 count organic cotton sheets and down comforters. 

Harry's sleeves are pushed up to expose his forearms and those many bracelets and leather bands he seems to always wear. In the dream-not-dream he can see the magic laced into them—charms and spells—gadgets made by his handler. 

Draco wants to reach forward, to touch them, but he can't. He watches as another man presses into Harry from behind, grinding his hips against Harry's arse, and Harry simply goes with it, dropping his head back onto the other man's shoulder and swaying into him. Quickly they find a rhythm, and Harry's breaths grow short, as the other man trails a flat palm down his stomach, as the other man leans in, says something in Harry's ear, his lips brushing the skin there possessively. 

Draco is not prepared for the surge of covetous _rage_ that explodes within him, and he wakes with a sharp cry. He sits straight up in bed, sweat soaking his thin tee, his fangs descended and his dick achingly hard. He presses his palm against his cock and groans out loud, because once he's made contact, he simply cannot stop. He shoves his hand inside his shorts, wraps his palm around his dick, and with two short strokes, he comes, growling loudly as he spills all over his y-fronts, soaking the front and dampening his hand, making it sticky and slick. 

He Banishes the mess with a mere thought and sits there, breathing hard, desperately confused. Then he lifts his fingers delicately to his mouth, finding that his canines are still descended, longer and sharper than before. He buries his face in his palms and screams until he is hoarse. 

And then, he screams some more.

**INTERLUDE**

_Ten years ago_

For a moment, Harry remains stock still at the top of the stairs, unable to connect a sense of reality to what lies below him. The dank basement is full, not with dark artefacts as they had expected, but with house-elves. 

They found an elf mill.

" _Shit._ "

Harry takes a few careful steps down the rickety staircase and holds up his hands, trying to seem non-threatening. He's read about this sick type of thing in old DMLE case files, had studied the mandates on illegal elf breeding for his exams, but he never once thought he'd see it in real life.

"Don't be afraid." Even as he says it, he winces at the daunting echo of his own voice in the damp, gloomy underground. "I'm an Auror."

Not a single elf responds, they only shuffle away from him as a unit, keeping the smallest ones— _most of them are babies for god's sake_ —at the very back of the group. They all flinch when he waves his wand to illuminate the room, and Harry tries again to soothe them. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The room is packed with elves and crates and wooden shelves lined with glass jars and filled with god knows what. Dead things. Illegal potions ingredients, no doubt.

Harry remains on the staircase, not wanting to terrify them further and activates the magicom in his ear.

 _Draco_ he says, his voice is distorted and patchy over the magicom link. _The basement is full of house-elves._

There a brief moment of silence, and then Draco's voice comes back to him. _How many?_

_At least thirty. Some of them are… really young._

_Fucking fuck._ Draco sighs loudly. _All right, I'm coming._

An anonymous tip had prompted them to investigate an old, seemingly abandoned house in Blackpool during a department-wide search for a cache of stolen Dark artefacts. They'd been wrapping up their sweep as they hadn't found much of note until moments ago. 

Harry had thought it all for naught, a complete waste of a perfect Friday evening which he _could_ have spent with Draco—well, with Draco and the rest of their off-duty squad—and a large bitter pint. Now it would be spent with a mountain of paperwork, and a holding room packed with terrified house-elves.

Wonderful.

Harry sighs, and tries again to calm the house-elves, wondering how hard it would be to get them all to hold on to a Portkey, when the sharp cracks of multiple Apparitions echo through the empty house.

He tenses, wand immediately at the ready as his robes transfigure themselves into the Auror-standard leather combat gear. He lifts a finger to his magicom link. _Draco?!_

 _Five unfriendlies._ Draco grunts loudly and the distant thuds of a rapid-fire wand fight vibrate the already creaking woodwork of the house. _I'll hold them off. Get the elves out!_

_Negative. I'm on my way._

Harry casts a Patronus and sends it for backup then turns to the group of elves. They're all looking up at him, their already large eyes made bigger by fear. "Don't follow me. Stay low, stay quiet. My partner and I will be back to get you out."

Harry zips up his combat jacket and takes the stairs two by two, halting at the top and taking stock. The hallway is empty, and the sounds of the wand fight seem to be coming from the left. Harry flattens his back against the peeling wallpaper and creeps along the hallway, keeping his wand raised, his free hand on the magicom link.

 _Status?_ he whispers.

There's an unnerving moment of silence, and the heavy tendrils of fear begin to clutch around Harry's heart. If something has happened to Draco on Harry's watch— _Draco!_

Draco's voice comes across the link, thready and weak. _Taking cover. Behind the sofa. Three down._

Draco's good at hand-to-hand combat, but he's reckless and arrogant and, Harry suspects, out to prove himself to the entire bloody department. _Stay down,_ Harry whispers. _You can't take them all._

There's a large arched doorway at the end of the corridor, through which Harry can see across the kitchen to the living room. He flattens himself along the wall, then sticks his head out to take a quick glimpse. Someone flings a curse at his head and it lands so close to him that he can feel the heat of it as it almost grazes his temple. Harry pulls his head back and drops low to the ground, taking cover behind the wall again and closing his eyes, trying to assess what he was able to glimpse. 

To the left of the room is a staircase leading to the second floor—where unfriendly four and five are likely taking cover. At the front of the living room, near the large bay windows, is the overturned sofa where Draco has barricaded himself. He's too close to the glass for Harry's peace of mind, and all around the sofa are large splinters of wood, which means Draco was somehow unable to move or shield himself.

Harry opens his eyes again and edges along the wall as he presses the link again. _Are you hit?_ Before Draco can answer, one of their attackers lobs a curse at the wall behind him, and Harry heaves himself sideways as the wall explodes, sending a massive spray of wood fragments and plaster that Harry has to shield against. He rolls into a ball as a heavy chunk of wood lands on his back, but his combat gear protects him from the worst of the pain.

His cover lost, Harry pelts across the hallway and into the kitchen, spotting one of the wizards hidden behind the staircase out of the corner of his eye. The wizard tosses another curse at Harry's chest, which he deflects without stopping, and Harry returns an _Incarcerous_ so powerful it sizzles when it lands its target.

The wizard drops with a dull thud, and Harry vaults himself across the overturned sofa to take cover, landing beside Draco just as another curse whizzes past his ear, shattering the windows.

Harry braces for impact, but Draco's shield protects them both. Harry collapses beside him and crawls closer, just as Draco's arm weakly drops to his side. There is a huge gash along Draco's abdomen, curving up to his chest and ending in a diagonal slash across his lower jaw. He's losing too much blood.

"Fuck!"

Harry reaches for him, desperately trying to put pressure on the wound. Another curse hits the sofa and it's pushed forward, almost landing entirely on Draco's head, but Harry holds it up with his shoulder and blindly sends a powerful _Reducto_ in the direction of their attacker. From the sound of plaster crumbling to the ground and the thudding footsteps headed up the staircase, he missed his target.

"He'll try to Disapparate."

Draco lifts his wand and closes his eyes, murmuring under his breath. Harry recognises the spell for the temporary anti-Apparition wards and waits to see if their attacker is able to Disapparate before Draco completes them. Out of the two of them, Draco is better at creating wards, while Harry's skills lie in dismantling them. But the magic will take a toll on Draco's already weak body and Harry keeps his wand at the ready should he collapse. There's no sound of Apparition, so Harry places a Shield Charm over them both, then turns to Draco.

"Where the fuck is backup?" He unzips Draco's combat robes and presses his palms onto his stomach. "You're losing too much blood. Why didn't you activate your St Mungo's Portkey?"

Draco gives him a wan look. "I suppose for the same reason you didn't leave when I told you to."

"You can't make those decisions." Harry closes his eyes and wandlessly casts a simple Healing Charm, though he knows it won't hold for long against a cursed wound. He lifts his hands, and they're slick with blood, but at least the charm is working for now. They need to get to the hospital. He gives Draco a stern look, and just barely manages not to take his hand. "We're partners; we stick together."

Draco raises an eyebrow. "Yes, sir."

How he manages to still be snarky while he's pale as hell and possibly bleeding out, Harry will never know, but as Harry sits there uselessly, his hand shaking as it hovers over Draco's abdomen, he's grateful for it. His throat thickens in that embarrassing way it does when he's about to get emotional, and he wishes for a moment that he didn't care quite so much about Draco. That he could be as solid and strong and stoic as Draco is.

Draco coughs and Harry gives up all pretence, giving in and taking Draco's hand and holding it in both of his, even as Draco's eyes begin to flutter closed. Harry shakes him harshly. "Don't you dare close your eyes. You don't get to leave yet."

The curve of Draco's mouth curls upwards in a faint grin. "What are you on about, Potter?" He looks up with a hazy grey gaze. "I'm not going anywhere."


	3. Chapter 3

Harry

Draco deftly slips a knee between Harry's thighs, urging them apart, and Harry groans his immediate surrender. Draco's hips rest snugly against his own and Draco's thick, hard cock presses against Harry's thigh. Harry groans in pleasant surprise, swallowing the urge to make a joke of it… _my, my how very big you are,_ but he is too lost in the heat and the desperation of his want to offer any kind of levity. 

Draco holds himself above him, his palms braced on either side of Harry's head, looking down at him with wide grey eyes, mouth slightly open, lips flushed and bruised. He tries to speak, furrows his brow, seeming slightly confused as to how they have come to be in this place.

Harry doesn't have the answer to the unspoken question, nor can he bring himself to care. What matters is that they are here, and that Draco is with him, soon to be _inside_ him, and nothing will make him feel more complete than that. 

Harry wraps his legs around Draco's waist and brushes his lips across Draco's bicep and Draco's entire body _shudders_. He lets his forehead rest against Harry's and the soft strands of his too-long hair brush Harry's cheeks. He releases a breath that sounds like Harry's name, and Harry rolls his hips, lost already in the heat of Draco's body, in the promise of things to come. 

Draco shudders again and lowers his mouth to Harry's lips in a gentle brush, and then, when Harry moans into it, he grows more insistent, slipping his tongue between Harry's lips, releasing hard breaths through his nose. 

Harry arches his back, baring his throat, and Draco pulls away, eyeing the length of Harry's neck with a hungry gaze. Draco licks his lips and rocks his hips in a jerky way that reveals the fragility of his control, making Harry gasp as Draco's dick slides along his. 

He'd always known that Draco would know what to do with his body—that he would know exactly what Harry liked, and he would do it without question. That he would not hold back.

That Draco would possess him completely. 

Draco meets his mouth again with a brief, filthy kiss, and then he pulls away and straddles him. After pinning Harry's wrists above his head, Draco leans in and drags his lips along the length of Harry's throat. Harry can feel the brush of sharp canines against his skin, and his body aches to feel them pierce it. 

_How is this happening?_

He means to say it out loud, but he finds that he can't. Words are impossible in this world. There is only touch. His mind _touching_ Draco's, and Draco's gently caressing his in response. 

Harry's dick is achingly hard, twitching and leaking all over them both. His precome makes that deliciously filthy _squelching_ sound as Draco rolls his hips and with each breath his pleasure surges, already rising to meet its climax. Draco wraps one palm around Harry's throat and nibbles Harry's earlobe as he slowly cuts off his air supply. Harry's eyelids drift shut, certain he's going to come all over himself before he's even been fucked.

Draco loosens his hold, and Harry gasps for breath. When he opens his eyes, Draco is studying him, his pupils almost fully dilated, darkened with lust. 

_I don't know._

Draco leans forward, nibbles Harry's earlobe again. He traces the shell of Harry's ear with his tongue then runs his palms down Harry's chest. He tweaks a nipple, and Harry arches up off the bed, wondering if there's such a thing as too much pleasure, too much feeling. Each nerve ending in his body seems to be awake and completely under Draco's command. 

_Do you want this?_

*

Harry curls himself into a small ball and buries his face into his pillow as he comes, his deep body shudders vibrating the mattress with the intensity of his release. He lays there for what seems like forever, boneless and shaking with the aftershocks. Even his fingertips still tingle.

His entire body feels wrung out and used. Sweat beads along his spine and on his forehead, slowly rolling onto the mattress, making it damp. His abs feel fluttery and overused, as though he's just finished his morning circuit, rather than having just woken up. He didn't even know it was _possible_ to come that hard.

He sits up in bed and looks down at his lap. His y-fronts are damp with come and he cups his spent dick and stares at it incredulously, then he takes a few moments to look around his room. He has to reassure himself that yes, he's in _his_ bed, and that no, Draco Malfoy is not here. Draco Malfoy did not just give him a skyrocketing orgasm by simply grinding his hips and licking his fucking earlobe and… Christ, was he running his fangs along Harry's throat?

"What the fuck?" 

Harry reaches for his glasses, slips them on and grabs his wand to cast a Tempus Charm. It's only seven in the morning. He casts a Cleaning Charm on his underwear and the sheets and gets out of bed. Feeling foolish, he shrugs into his dressing gown and starts wandering about his house. The wooden floors creak beneath his feet as he checks to see if Draco is in the house somewhere. Maybe in the kitchen, making coffee or toast or _something,_ because it all felt _so real,_ and he needs to know he's not losing his mind. He can still feel the heat of Draco's body, the manic desperation of his thrusts. 

Harry leans against the doorway to his bedroom and brushes his mouth with his fingertips. The shadow of Draco's kisses still linger.

It isn't the first time he's felt that mouth against his, and it isn't the first time he's dreamed about Draco in that way, either. It's embarrassing how much he's dreamed about Draco over the years. But this. This is something else entirely.

He wants to call Draco, but he's certain that even if he uses a mobile anymore, it will be lying dead somewhere, forgotten in a drawer. As far as he can remember, Draco is so unaccustomed to Muggle tech that he would often forgets he owns most of it. 

Harry pulls off his dressing gown and walks into his bathroom to shower and brush his teeth and get ready for work—he has a debrief with Hermione in less than an hour—but he does so in a vague kind of haze. All he can think about as he showers is the dream-not-dream, Draco's body against his and how _right_ it had felt. After, he scrutinises his reflection as he shaves with his towel slung around his hips. His eyes seem to glow brighter than before, and the lines of his face appear less prominent. 

The jet-black serpent engulfed by swirling flames that's inked onto his left bicep suddenly comes alive and twirls around the swell of Harry's muscle and over his delts. Harry stares at it in the mirror, his mouth wide with shock. Like the stag and doe he had inked onto his back just after he left Hogwarts, the serpent and flame has been charmed to move, but it's stayed resolutely still ever since Harry had it inked just before he left the Auror department.

Now it is alive and even more vibrant than before, and the snake yawns, flicking out its deep red tongue. "Hello," Harry says quietly, touching the snake as it seems to purr and follow the trail of his fingertips down the length of his arm. Even though he thought it was a little pathetic at the time, getting a tattoo for someone who seemed determined to pretend there was nothing going on between them, in the end, Harry had done it for himself. How he feels for Draco, even if it was never returned, is something that is inked into his skin either way. Might as well make it beautiful. 

When he thought Draco had been sacked from the Auror department, things were already so strained between them that he didn't know if he should try to make contact. He didn't know if Draco would want to hear anything he had to say. 

That doesn't mean it hadn't hurt. He couldn't believe that Draco wouldn't at least come to him, even after Harry's longing for Draco and the stupid ways he'd chosen to deal with it had ruined their partnership. 

Harry cleans up the sink and tries to veer his thoughts away from _that_ particular black hole of depression. 

His Floo chimes, and he contemplates his reflection again, trying to make sure he looks sane and fit for company. It's only when he tilts his head back and brushes his fingers across his neck that he notices the faint scratch that stretches over his pulse point. 

A scratch the shape and size of an elongated, sharp canine tooth. 

Hermione walks into his bedroom, and Harry starts violently. He pokes his head around his bathroom door and waves to her, still catching his breath. Her hair is wild, and she's cloaked in standard Ministry robes, carrying a tray with two coffee cups and a brown bag. 

Harry steps into the bedroom, tightening his towel around his waist, and she rolls her eyes when she sees he's not dressed. "At least you shaved," she says with a sigh. "I knew you'd be late, so I brought you breakfast." She wiggles the brown bag. "Bacon sarnies, extra bacon, extra heart disease."

Harry makes a show of kissing her on her cheek as he walks around her to his chest of drawers. "You're a gift," he says, looking for a decent tee and jeans to throw on. "No Ron this morning?"

"Hugo is having a moment," she says. At Harry's inquisitive look, she holds up a hand. "I didn't ask. Let's have that debrief, shall we?" 

Harry waves his clothes around pointedly. "Can I have a mo' to get dressed?" 

"Oh, right." She scurries out the doorway. "Meet me in the kitchen!" 

He shakes his head and pulls on his clothes as he considers whether he should tell Hermione about what happened this morning, just to be able to say it to _someone._ Then, imagining the awkwardness of that proposed conversation, he firmly decides against it. 

He joins her in the kitchen, sitting at the small square dining table in his breakfast nook, something Luna insisted he should have if he wasn't willing to find himself a house with a proper dining room. 

"Let's get started." Hermione grabs a coffee and waves her wand to record the conversation for her files as Harry reaches for his sarnie. 

"I made contact," he says around a mouthful of sandwich. 

Hermione makes an excited little sound and raises her palm high, wiggling her eyebrows expectantly. When Harry rolls his eyes and stays resolutely still, she gives him a death stare until he concedes with a high five. 

They had used their MLE resources to trail a suspected member of Vyken's coven to a gay club in Soho, and it had been Hermione's idea to send Harry in his tightest pair of jeans like fresh meat.

She grins. "Didn't I tell you he'd take the bait?"

"Seeing as the bait was my arse, I'd rather not concede the point."

"You haven't seen yourself on the dancefloor." Hermione gives him a wink. "What's the intel?" 

"Vyken knows Draco is alive."

She stills, and all signs of humour fall away from her face. "Do you think he'll try to find him?"

"The target seemed to think so." Harry takes another bit of the sandwich and sets it aside, then meets Hermione's curious gaze. "Vyken has his scouts on the lookout for Draco in London. Orders are to bring him back alive." 

"That seems surprising." 

Harry shakes his head. "Robards said Vyken was obsessed with Draco. _Obsessed._ I don't think he chose that word lightly."

Hermione nods and picks at the edge of her coffee sleeve. "You Obliviated him, I suppose." Harry nods and she takes a sip of coffee. "Where do you think all of this leads?"

Harry slides out from behind the table so he can pace. Thinking through a case always has him rising to his feet. "Draco's memory had been tampered with before he was turned. But why take someone's memory if you're going to kill them anyway?" 

She taps her chin with the end of her quill. "Vyken needs Draco's magic," she says slowly. "You think killing him was never the plan." 

"Exactly, but Draco was bled within an inch of his life."

"Well, I imagine it's easy to get carried away when things like desire and obsession get thrown into the mix." Hermione tilts her head. "Maybe he lost control." 

Harry nods. "And when he did, he left Draco for dead somewhere. He never expected Draco to be found." 

"But someone did."

"Not just _someone,_ Hermione." Harry halts his pacing. "Someone in the coven. Someone who Draco trusted enough to take him to Robards."

"Which makes it certain that Vyken isn't Draco's sire." Hermione gives Harry a cautious look. "I know you won't like this suggestion, but maybe Draco _should_ allow contact with whoever tuned him." 

Harry runs his fingers through his hair and huffs when a few strands flop back into his eyes. "The target also said there's dissent in Vyken's group. He's fighting for control. Whoever turned Draco may not be on Vyken's side, but who's to say they're on ours?"

Hermione chews the end of her quill. 

"Draco was _made,_ Hermione." Harry resumes his pacing. "I don't think Vyken simply lost control because of his—feelings for him. He found out Draco was betraying him. It _has_ to be the mole in the MLE." 

"The _suspected_ mole in the MLE," Hermione reminds him. "And there isn't a single MLE officer who has enough clearance to access Auror case files. Even if the MLE has a mole, the most they'd have been able to give Vyken are the patrol routes."

"I don't know the _hows_ just yet… but… consider it. If Vyken confronted Draco because he suspected him…." 

Hermione shakes her head, swallowing down a bit of coffee. "Draco is an excellent actor, he would have kept himself in play. You've seen what he can do." 

Point. Draco was always better undercover because his poker face gave nothing away. A skill that's caused Harry a fair amount of grief in his personal life. "All right, then _something_ happened. Maybe he found Draco snooping around, or maybe Draco saw something he wasn't supposed to." 

"And Vyken flies into a rage, overpowers Draco and almost bleeds him to death? I don't see it, Draco is rarely caught off guard like that, and even if he were, there would be defensive wounds…." 

Harry stills. Draco is always calm and clear headed in battle. Taking down enemies is his strength. If ever showed a weakness, it's in his deeply rooted guilt complex that always seems to lead him to some sort of self-sacrifice. "What if Draco was protecting someone?" Harry looks across the room, sure that the expression on his face mirrors the expression on Hermione's.

"He found one of the Muggles," Hermione says quietly. "He found them alive."

"And he distracted Vyken so they could escape."

Hermione stands and whips her robes around her in a blur. "I'll contact the DMLE, see if they can connect me with one of their contacts in the Met," she says, grabbing her coffee cup and heading to the Floo. "If any of the missing Muggles have shown up, they might know what happened that night. They might be able to give us the location of the coven."


	4. Chapter 4

Harry

Harry pauses on Draco's doorstep and taps the silver knocker against the dark stained wood. The drizzle from the morning has turned into full-on rain, and he shivers beneath his overcoat. 

Draco has somehow altered his wards without a wand, blocking Harry's Apparition and knocking him off course by a few blocks. Thankfully, Harry is one of the few people who knows Draco's address and is able to walk the few metres to his flat, because Draco has also closed off his Floo. 

Harry grumbles on the doorstep, getting thoroughly soaked in spite of his long coat, unable to cast an _Impervius_ because of the Muggles milling about.

After a few minutes of restless shuffling, Draco opens the door and peers around it with a deep scowl etched on his pale face. His long hair is wild, grey eyes unnaturally bright. As his gaze locks onto Harry's, the scowl falls away and his expression becomes unreadable.

On seeing him, a dozen or so competing emotions begin to toss themselves around Harry's brain. He doesn't know which to examine first. He's worried, protective, turned on, annoyed. Bits of the dream-not-dream come back to him, like a flashback, and he can almost feel Draco's hands on his body, warming his skin, making him safe. 

Draco's covered only by an emerald green dressing gown, left untied over briefs which leave nothing to the imagination and sit low on his waist. Harry's gaze is drawn to the curve of Draco's hips and lingers there, mesmerised by the pale lines of lean muscle.

Draco steps aside, stiffening when Harry's shoulder brushes his skin. "Close the door behind you." His voice is raw and fragile, and before Harry can respond, Draco turns on his heels and stalks inside. "Make sure you lock it." 

Harry does so, then pulls off his overcoat and spells it dry, leaving it in the coat closet in the hallway before he follows Draco along the gleaming oak floors that lead to the dining room and kitchen. Draco's flat could easily be described as ‘elegantly posh,' but that wouldn't be doing it much justice. The kitchen and dining room are hemmed in by white walls covered with elegant paintings and chrome fixtures, and above is a vaulted ceiling with exposed wood beams traversing its width. On the furthest wall is an oversized window that floods the rooms with light and looks out onto a small back garden. The furnishings are exquisite, all greys and whites, topped by a low hanging crystal chandelier that hovers over the marble-topped island. The chandelier alone probably costs more than Harry's entire house.

Harry pulls out one of the high-back barstools, intending to take a seat at the island, but Draco abruptly turns and pushes himself into Harry's space, forcing him to back up into the countertop. Without warning, Draco buries his nose in Harry's neck and breathes in deeply. When he pulls away, Harry notices with a distant sense of alarm that Draco's canines are longer than usual. 

Draco slides one knee between Harry's thighs and grips Harry's hip with a quiet kind of desperation, digging his fingers in possessively. Harry's already half-hard cock twitches in his pants, even as his magic defensively stirs, and a charm in one of his many protective bracelets vibrates with energy. It will defend him if Harry commands, but he knows that Draco would never hurt him. Not intentionally. 

"What were you doing last night?" Draco's voice is as smooth as silk even as he takes shallow breaths through his nose. 

"I—what?" 

"I saw you." Draco insinuates surprisingly warm fingers beneath the hem of Harry's T-shirt, and rests his forehead against Harry's collarbone. His long hair brushes Harry's throat, and Harry has to close his eyes to find his grounding. "You were dancing." 

Draco's flat palm brushes against Harry's abs and Harry shudders, losing almost all sense of reason. All he wants is to wrap his thighs around Draco's waist, let him take him right against the countertop.

"How—? It was nothing."

Draco makes a low sound in his throat and grips Harry's waist even tighter. 

"Draco, it was just an op. He was a target." 

Harry hesitantly lifts his hands and buries them in Draco's hair, pushing it away from his face. Draco lifts his head, and as they make eye contact he stills, then hastily pulls away. He takes a few steps back, his grey eyes bright and wide. 

"I—Merlin, Harry, I'm sorry. I—" Draco covers his mouth, and his brows draw together in horror. When Harry steps forward, Draco stumbles back and raises his palm. " _Don't._ " 

Harry clenches his jaw and holds himself still, watching Draco's shoulders rise and fall as he takes deep, steady breaths. "Harry… concealment charms, please." Draco's voice is a tenuous staccato. "I can—I can smell you. I can't… not after." 

"After what?!" Harry cries, more confused than ever. 

But Draco turns and flees down the hallway that leads to his bedroom. Harry remains in the kitchen, though his body shudders with a need to follow him that borders on compulsion. 

He rests one palm against the countertop and steadies himself. When he can think again, he curses beneath his breath. He completely forgot scent concealment charms in his haste to get here. He casts the heaviest charms he can, then activates one of the bracelets on his wrist, a sort of mental-repellent Hermione had devised for him since he never quite mastered Occlumency. 

While he doubts that Draco is getting into his head on purpose, they both need to gain some control over what's happening between them.

When Draco returns, he is fully dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of trackies, his feet bare, his hair pulled back in a haphazard French plait, obviously done in haste. Long blond strands easily escape to frame his face, and Draco shakily tucks them behind his ear as he crosses the room without a word. 

Harry stares at him as Draco opens the refrigerator and pulls out a small flask. Avoiding Harry's gaze, Draco opens the flask and takes a long swallow, then he closes his eyes, panting as Harry stares at him in shock. 

"Are you _drinking_ right now?"

Draco shakes his head. "It's a potion," he says with a shudder. "I made it this morning. To help me…." Draco wipes his mouth as he hesitates, then fiddles with the cap of the flask. "It should help with my… appetite." 

Harry counts backwards in his mind. It has been at least three days since Draco was turned. "You haven't fed at all, have you?" 

Draco finally looks Harry in the eye, gaze blazing. "No, Harry, I popped ‘round the corner last night and had a few Muggles for dinner." He opens the fridge and throws the flask inside, slams it shut, and then sits heavily on a stool, burying his face in his palms. 

Harry carefully approaches him, sitting on the opposite end of the island. "I'm going to take that as a 'no,'" he says. "You realise vampires don't actually _eat_ people, don't you?"

Draco groans and lifts his head. "You are the worst person I know." He laughs quietly, almost against his will and shakes his head. "Tell me what you learned. From your contact." 

Harry stares at him. "You really think we're not going to talk about what just happened? Or what you told me?" 

"I'd rather not." 

A wave of anger rushes up inside him and Harry rounds the island to shove Draco hard in the shoulder. To Harry's surprise, Draco doesn't resist or fight back—he only sighs and looks at Harry like a man about to sacrifice himself to some greater good. Harry shoves him again, and Draco catches his wrist.

Harry yanks his hand away. "Can't you even bring yourself to say it?"

"Say what, Harry?"

Harry gestures between them. "That _this_ is a thing. That I'm not making it up." Harry runs his fingers through his hair and tries to step away, but Draco hooks his fingers into Harry's belt loops, keeping him close.

"You're not," Draco says quietly. 

"I saw you, too." Harry's gaze is helplessly drawn to Draco's hands on his hips. All he can think of is those hands around his neck, squeezing the breath out of him, and he wants it. He wants all of it now. When he looks up again, Draco's eyes are wide. 

"You—what?" 

"In a dream. You were in my bed—we were… Draco, I swear it was real." Harry shudders. Something about having him so close, his hands touching Harry's body, feels so goddamned _right._. "Tell me it was real."

There's a moment of silence, and Harry's stomach lurches as if in free fall, but then Draco speaks. "It was real," he says. "I was there." 

Harry reaches for Draco's hand, and Draco lets him take it, his gaze hazy and confused. Harry shakes his head. "How many times are we going to come back to this?"

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't apologise. It's not about apologising. It's about finally… facing whatever this _thing_ is between us." 

Draco squeezes Harry's palm and gives him a soft smile. "I'm apologising because this is the worst timing imaginable."

Harry laughs. "Our timing has always been fucked to hell." He threads their fingers together. "But maybe whatever's happening between us is _because_ you've been ignoring this for so long. Pretending it doesn't exist."

"I wasn't pretending! I didn't think it was a good idea." Draco sighs. "I still don't. And when you left the department, I thought it was because you felt the same. That you realised we're better off far away from each other." 

Harry studies Draco's face, enraptured by its strange flawlessness. The scar at the curve of his jaw is gone. His skin is clear and his sharp cheekbones are cut like glass, but beneath the unaccustomed perfection, there is still Draco, and the vulnerability in his eyes, and the way he still has a hard time meeting Harry's gaze. 

"I left—" Harry cuts himself off and forces himself to swallow, so he can finally say the words to Draco's face. "You made me feel like I was the only one." 

Draco shakes his head, gripping Harry's hand tight. "You weren't," he says faintly. "You weren't the only one."

Harry's chest aches as the memories flood in, taking him back to the time when just a look from Draco was enough to make him fall. It had hurt so much then, seeing Draco every day, because Draco had always seemed so _indifferent._ Every night, Harry had to put himself back together to become the Auror again—to face his partner in the morning. It had driven him to exhaustion. 

Wanting to be closer, Harry slips between Draco's thighs. "Do you think our timing will ever _not_ be fucked up?"

Draco cups his face, brushes his thumb across Harry's lower lip. "Maybe," he says. "But this is definitely not it."

Harry breathes a soft laugh, and Draco smiles. Draco so rarely smiles that when he does, it changes all the planes of his face. The cut of his sharp cheekbones seems less severe, and there's a softness to him—a naked vulnerability plain beneath the skin, one he hardly shows to anyone. His eyes are still startling grey, but they've lost that over-bright quality from before, and his teeth are as straight and perfect as they always were.

"Half the time, I thought I was losing my mind. Fooling myself…." Harry traces Draco's sharp brow with his fingertip. "Why do you always pull away?" 

Draco closes his eyes. "You weren't losing your mind," he says as he slides his fingers into the hair at Harry's nape. "You weren't. But don't you think it's too late now?" He opens his eyes, searching Harry's gaze. 

Draco's fingernails scratch gently along Harry's scalp and Harry's stomach clenches because it feels like an electric shock jolting down his spine. "Because you're a vampire?" Harry wraps his fingers around Draco's wrists. "I thought that would give you all the time in the world."

Draco ceases his gentle caress and flicks the side of Harry's neck with his fingers. "Are you— We're having a serious conversation here, Harry!"

Harry laughs. "Okay, okay. I'll be serious." Draco's fingertips trace the line of his jaw, and he shudders. "Why can't we have this?" 

"Harry. I can barely manage a minute without thinking about killing you." 

"But you won't," Harry says, leaning into Draco's touch. "Even if you—bite me. I know you won't hurt me." 

"Homicidal thoughts aren't the best basis for a relationship." Draco's hands drift to Harry's hips, slipping beneath the hem of his tee, seeking bare skin. Harry tugs the thin fabric of Draco's shirt, twisting it in his fist, tugging Draco close enough to feel the unsteady puffs of his breath. 

"Homicidal thoughts are the foundation of our relationship." 

Draco's gaze drops to Harry's mouth. "Shut up and kiss me." 

Harry leans in, capturing Draco's mouth and they both groan at the contact. Their tongues come together, hard and fast and desperate, and Draco cups Harry's face in his palms. 

It was real. The dream-not-dream and everything it—Draco's body rocking into his, their cocks sliding slickly together—it was all real, and Draco had felt it too.

Draco slides one of his hands along the back of Harry's head to tug the hair at his nape. In retaliation, Harry catches Draco's lower lip between his teeth, earning him another harsh tug.

Draco slides off the stool, turns them quickly around so that Harry's back slams into the refrigerator and deepens the kiss as he presses their chests together. He snakes a hand between them to dig his fingers into Harry's hips and Harry whimpers. 

They pull apart for breath, and Harry looks up at Draco, bewildered. "How is it that you're even taller?" 

Draco laughs and captures Harry's mouth again, and Harry strains on his toes to meet him. 

A deeper kind of magic stirs within him, a powerful burst of energy that flits between them like a hummingbird feeding from flower to flower, tying them together with strings of magic that hold firm, like a permanent fixture. 

Like a bond.

"Draco what's happening?" Harry says against Draco's lips. "I feel…." 

But Harry doesn't have the words. Draco clings to him as his magic crashes into Harry like a wave, and Harry is the sand, absorbing everything, growing heavier and more real. Neither of them tries to move; they remain unearthly still, breathing heavily, that feeling of _rightness_ still humming around them like an echo. 

Draco caresses Harry's cheek with his thumb. "I don't know what this is." He kisses the side of Harry's neck and gently pulls away. Harry almost screams in frustration. "I think we need to answer that question before we do any of this." 

Harry breathes deeply, trying to calm himself. "Even if we both want it?" 

"You know I'm right."

Reluctantly, Harry steps away, straightening his clothes. He walks around the counter and carefully sits. "Let's talk about the case."

Draco grabs a chocolate bar from the fridge and sits opposite him.

"Vyken knows you're alive." 

Draco doesn't say anything to this, he only contemplates his chocolate bar solemnly before he takes a bite, and then he nods. "I thought he might. I've changed the wards on the flat and closed the Floo."

"Would you mind adding me back?" Harry rests his hand on the countertop, palm up. "I'd like to visit you again without having to stand in the rain." 

After a moment's hesitation, Draco presses his index on the centre of Harry's palm and closes his eyes. He whispers the incantation to give Harry access to his wards, and as the magic passes between them, Harry feels the bond between them happily swell and settle, like a satisfied sigh.

When he looks up, Draco is staring at him, and then he clears his throat. "Shouldn't we get to work?"

"I'm not sure." Harry hesitates. 

Draco studies him quietly. "You think your Legilimency has something to do with this?"

"I don't know, do I?" Harry says. "But the mind has a way of remembering things. I don't want to make this connection between us any stronger until we know what it is and why it's happening." 

"All right…." Draco says slowly, looking frustrated. "Then how the bloody hell are we going to get anything done?" 

"If we could somehow access Padma's case files." 

"My cottage in Somerset…."

Harry shakes his head. "It's already been searched. Most of the safe room was destroyed, and the residue matched her signature." 

Draco nods. "She would have destroyed any files she thought might be dangerous in the wrong hands." He pauses, looking up at Harry with a bleak expression. "If she thought we had a mole, she would have destroyed _everything._ "

"But that means she knew what was coming. You must have communicated with her before you were hurt."

Draco runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck! I don't remember…." He smacks the side of his head with his palm and makes a sharp sound of frustration. 

Harry reaches across the counter and holds his arm still. "Stop that. We'll figure this out." 

Draco takes a deep breath and visibly calms himself. "She would have back-up files. They would be heavily warded, and not up to date, but she would have left them accessible to an Auror. Have you searched her flat?" 

"There was nothing. No presence of wards to indicate she had been keeping casework at home." 

Draco stares at the countertop looking utterly lost. Harry can't imagine what he's going through, missing his partner and his memories and dealing with his new condition, all at once. 

"I'm going to help you figure this out." He strokes Draco's arm gently, and Draco nods but avoids Harry's gaze. "Was there anyone else she might have confided in? Another location she might have kept those casefiles?"

"I don't—wait." Draco looks up at him eyes wide. "We _both_ know someone she might have confided in." 

It dawns on Harry as suddenly as it must have dawned on Draco, and he hops off the stool and Summons his robes at once. "I'm going alone. I don't want you leaving this flat."

"But if the files are there, it's possible she could have warded them to me. What if I'm the only one who can access them?" 

"If that's the case, we'll deal with it then."

Draco gapes at him. "So I should just sit around and wait for you? I'm not helpless, Potter!" 

"Let's not take any unnecessary risks, okay? Please. Stay." Harry walks over him and brushes a kiss on Draco's forehead. "For me." 

Draco scowls at him. "That was almost Slytherin." 

"I know," Harry says, giving Draco a wink just before he Disapparates.

Harry lands on the grassy path leading to Luna's home in Kent, and before he makes it up the walkway, Luna flings open her front door and makes a beeline for him, her nose red, her long blonde hair in a state of disarray.

With a sharp pang of guilt, he hurries towards her, and as they meet in the middle, he has to grab her unsteady shoulders to keep her upright.

"Is she dead?"

"No. No!" Harry gives her a reassuring hug and rubs his palm along her back. "God, Luna I am so sorry. No one's been to see you at all, have they?" 

She pulls away and shakes her head as she wipes her nose. "Well, they don't know. No one in her department knows. Why would they tell me a thing?" She pushes her hair away from her face and releases a shuddering breath. "I didn't want to worry because I know she has to be away for work. " She looks up at him, eyes wide. "But she's never done this. She's never been away this long without at least sending an owl. What's going on?" 

Harry gently guides her into the house and closes the door behind them before leading her into the bright kitchen. The kitchen is small and efficient, with bright yellow walls and a few charming paintings hung in wooden frames. Harry leads her to the table and pulls out a chair for her before he sits. 

"She's not dead," Harry reiterates. "But she _is_ missing from her post."

Luna eyes fill with tears, but when one escapes, she quickly wipes it away, and a fierce expression appears on her usually kind face. "How?" 

Harry fills her in as much as he can without _completely_ breaking protocol. He tells her that Padma had been covering an operative on an undercover job, that her agent had been made, and that Padma's location had been compromised, but he doesn't mention anything about Draco or the vampire coven. When he's finished, he adds, "Did you know much about her investigation?" 

Luna shakes her head. "Padma never likes talking about work," she says. "I knew she had a big case, and she was even more secretive than usual, but… that's all I know, I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Harry says gently, "She had to be secretive to protect her agent."

"I know that." Luna wipes her nose and looks down at the table. "I just wish she chose a job where she didn't have to keep things from me. You know?" 

Harry's stomach churns as he looks away from her in discomfort. Luna is one of the many people under the impression that Harry works as the Head of the Department for Strategy and Defence. The department, of course, does not exist. It serves only as a cover for his true position in the Department of Mysteries. His life depends on his ability to keep secrets, but at least Ron, Hermione and now Draco are in on it. Luna and Padma are always going to have secrets lying between them. 

"Let me make you a cuppa, all right?" 

Luna nods, and Harry flicks his wand at the kettle. 

"Cups are in the cupboard above the sink."

Harry pats her shoulder gently as he passes behind her to get to the cupboards. "I remember."

"You need something from me," Luna says. "Something to help find Padma. You're on the case, aren't you?" 

"Yes, I am." Harry pulls down two cups and reaches for the box of tea bags. "I was hoping you could help me find something." Behind the box of tea, he spots a battered leather watch along with a bunch of other knickknacks: a few old S.P.E.W. pins, a half-packet of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and a flyer for the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes holiday collection. "Luna, you know the Ministry put a sanction on all these," he says, waving the packet of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder at her. She shrugs. 

"Take it if you want," she says. "Seamus thought I could use it in one of my shows. I keep telling him performance art and cheap tricks are not the same thing." 

Harry's hand hovers over the leather watch. The strap is thick and weathered, and the face is oversized and distinctly masculine; the face is shiny but the watch has some wear. "This yours?"

"Seamus left that, too. I keep forgetting to owl him."

"When was this?"

Luna frowns. "A week ago? Maybe two? He was hoping to see Padma, but, as usual, she was off running her op or whatever you lot call it."

On autopilot, Harry pockets the satchel of powder and the watch. His mind is preoccupied with trying to map out the timeline of Draco's case. "Did you use those exact words?" he asks Luna sharply. "That Padma was running an op?" 

"I—yes. I didn't mention anything specific! And Seamus works with her, I thought he would know…." 

"Seamus is in the MLE." Harry says, mostly to himself. "He's not an Auror." The pieces begin to slot together even as his heart plummets down to his feet. "Did Padma ever do any casework here, like… in an office, or…."

Without a word, Luna takes his hand and leads him up the stairs and to the end of the carpeted hallway. She opens the door to a small room equipped with a desk and chair and two large bookshelves built into the walls filled with books all piled haphazardly, some of which threaten to fall off the shelves altogether. In the corner of the room is a soft-looking upholstered arm chair with a Ravenclaw throw tossed over its edge. 

"I stopped using this office after we closed the _Quibbler._ Padma uses it sometimes." Luna halts at the doorway. "I never really come in here."

Harry walks over to the shelf, immediately drawn in by the staticky feel of Padma's Notice-Me-Not Charms. "Why is that?" 

"She used a lot of wards. Ever since the Manor, I've become sensitive to latent magic. Wards. Weather charms. She tries to be as light-handed as possible, but I still feel them. I know there must be something in here." 

"There is." Harry waves away the Notice-Me-Not Charm like a child would wave away an annoying fly, and Luna gives a small sigh of relief. 

"That's much better," she says, stepping properly inside the room. 

Harry reaches his palm out to the shelf and closes his eyes. There's also an illusion spell meant to throw him off, but he quickly dismantles it, and the innocuous image of leather-bound books is replaced by a large metallic lockbox. 

Luna makes a small sound of surprise as Harry's mobile gives a shrill little ring, and he pats her shoulder gently as he answers it with a small frown.

"Our theory didn't pan out," Hermione says once they connect. "There's nothing from the Met. All of the missing Muggles are still MIA, none have shown up at the hospital, and no one has returned home."

Harry holds the phone between his ear and shoulder as he examines the box. Around it is a layer of standard protection wards, discernible by any wizard trained as an Auror, but the wards have been recently tampered with, and the magic is sluggish and dull. The breaking of the wards was carelessly executed and done with haste, but it wasn't torn apart by an amateur. Whoever did it knew what they were looking at and exactly how to pry it apart. 

"Harry. You there?" 

With a wave of his palm, Harry casts an unlocking charm and the box springs open. Most of the case files inside are in complete disorder. Pages are scattered and crumpled and thumbed through without a thought for preservation. The contents of the folder labelled _Coven In Play_ is missing entirely.

Harry's throat tightens. "Hermione. What if the person Draco saved doesn't have a case file at the Met?" 

There's a staticky pause at the end of the line, and Harry meets Luna's confused gaze. He tries to give her a reassuring smile, but his face feels almost frozen. "Why wouldn't they?" 

"Because he wasn't reported missing." Harry runs one quick hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. "He isn't a Muggle, Hermione." Harry closes the lockbox, shrinks it, and puts it into his pocket. "Vyken only thought he was, because he doesn't use magic. Not anymore." 

Hermione begins saying something again in his ear, but Harry misses it beneath the silent cracking of his heart and the piercing scream of the kettle as it boils over for tea.

**INTERLUDE**

_Five years ago_

"I can't believe you bought this coffee machine," Harry says loudly, wondering if Draco will hear him all the way in his bedroom. He escaped to change out of his shirt and tie after they decided to take a break from the case they've been interminably pouring over. An hour into their ‘break'—which mostly consisted of them listening to Ginny's Quidditch match on the wireless—they decided to order takeaway as well.

Never has Harry more regretted turning down Draco's offer to leave clothes in his wardrobe, because more than anything, he wishes he could change out of his stiff shirt and dress trousers. At the height of summer, even with a few cooling charms, Draco's flat is stuffy and warm, but Harry has only himself to blame for not being able to seek relief. He'd balked at the idea of leaving clothing or shoes, or, god forbid, his toothbrush in Draco's home, no matter how many times Draco's offered. He knows how much it'll mess with his brain, keeping his things in the flat of a man he's half in love with—especially when that man is his bloody partner and seemingly… unmoved by Harry.

Trying to put aside that familiar ache, Harry Transfigures his shirt into a lighter T-shirt and leans over the sink to open the giant window overlooking the back garden. The garden smells of heat and earth and whatever plants Draco's attempting to grow in his flowerbed. Knowing it's probably full of magical species that Draco cultivates for his potions ingredients, Harry doesn't take too close a look. They're more than likely non-regulation for Muggle neighbourhoods, and he'd much prefer to maintain his deniability.

He opens the fridge, grabs a beer and pops the cap, then goes around the kitchen looking for Draco's cigarette stash. He likes to makes a point of finding the boxes, emptying them, and leaving them for Draco to find. He's hoping that the sheer frustration alone will make Draco kick the habit, but it's also fun. He sticks a hand behind the tea jar, a usual spot, but comes up empty. The island has a set of built-in drawers and a wine rack, but he also comes up dry when he checks those as well. The bugger is onto Harry's plan. 

He takes a seat in the high-backed barstool plotting his next move and spares a thought for how long Draco's taking in his bedroom. Of course, this leads him to an image of Draco lounging about in his underwear—something Harry's actually walked in on more than once. The image is just as devastating in living colour as it is in his imagination. Draco is as lean as he is tall, and the sharp cuts of muscle that he's honed through years of training and fieldwork only add to the graceful planes of his body. 

Harry points his wand at the toaster, but there's no box of fags hidden there either. He can never quite believe how Muggle the flat is—how many appliances Draco has integrated into his life (though he barely uses most of them.) Draco always says it's the easiest way to keep his father from visiting, but Harry thinks his real reasoning lies in his continued fascination with Muggle tech, even though it still confuses and sometimes frightens him.

It's these strange vulnerabilities that make Draco so bloody endearing and Harry's feelings for him that much harder to put away. If it were only lust, Harry could move past it, but he's known Draco for most of his life, the good and the bad, and he figures if he can feel these things after all they've been through, then it's the kind of love that simply doesn't go away. 

The kind of love he'll be stuck with, forever. 

Harry takes a few more sips of beer and pulls out his mobile to check his messages. There's only the one from Hermione that he's been avoiding for the last few days, because he's not ready to answer her questions. As they'd both been invited to apply around the same time, Hermione is the only who knows about his application to the Department of Mysteries, and he's been holding on to his acceptance letter for more than a week, the thought of making a decision hounding him at every turn. 

He's known for a long time that his career with the Auror department is temporary. Apart from the bureaucracy, the corruption, and his personal issues with authority, he's never felt as though he could make any real change under Robards' thumb. There are simply too many hoops to jump through and too many Galleons changing hands at the top.

The autonomy of the Department of Mysteries is what's drawing him in; Unspeakables only report to the leader of the Department, simply called _Magnus._ Harry has never once met them, nor does he know if it's a witch or wizard or… some other being, as the Department of Mysteries is the only Department that hires magical creatures, ‘dark' or otherwise. 

The position they've offered him means he can weed out the kind of corruption that turned him off the Auror department in the first place. It _could_ be considered a sort of "internal affairs" investigator, but from the stack of papers he was given to peruse, it's a lot more than that. He'll be allowed the use of Legilimency during his investigations, as his high scores on all aptitude tests for the skill were one of the main reasons he was invited to apply. While his main responsibilities seem to include keeping the DMLE on their toes, he can also be called in as a liaison on high-profile Auror cases. 

His favourite part by far is that his assigned codename is _Mindbreaker._ It reminds Harry of the video games he and Ron had slowly become addicted to during their Auror training, after Hermione had made the mistake of buying Ron a massive television for Christmas. 

All in all, the Department of Mysteries seems handmade for him, except for the one thing that it lacks.l His partner. And worse, if Harry chooses to leave, he would have to lie to him about why.

Their partnership has been almost perfect, except for the inconvenient aspect of Harry's falling in love, and he knows the news is going to leave Draco feeling blindsided. 

Harry doesn't even know how to bring it up. 

There's a knock at the front door and Harry startles out of his reverie, suddenly remembering that they ordered Chinese. He trots across the kitchen and down the hallway in Snitch-covered socks and opens the door to one of the most adorable delivery girls he's ever seen. She pushes her glasses up her nose and smiles at him, revealing deep dimples on both of her round brown cheeks. 

"Harry Potter?" she asks holding up the bag of their takeaway. 

"Yeah, hang on." He pulls out the wad of cash he and Draco had painstakingly calculated and set aside and sticks his hand out, hoping they've got it right. Paying for takeaway always gives him inexplicable bouts of anxiety.

She hands him the bag as she takes the cash. "All set." She winks as she pockets the change. "I love your glasses, by the way."

Harry touches his frames self-consciously, but he smiles at her anyway, charmed and bemused at once. "Erm—I love your hair." 

She ruffles her huge mop of brown curls and grins. "Thanks! Have a good one!" 

Harry closes the door and peers into the bag as he walks down the hall, savouring the glorious smell of Sichuan aubergine and smoked duck just as Draco enters the kitchen, hair damp, dressed in only a thin, stretched-out v-neck tee and grey joggers.

Harry almost drops the food onto the floor. 

Draco's T-shirt is so thin it's almost transparent, and while he doesn't want to observe too closely (and he also wants to observe as closely as possible) he's almost certain that Draco isn't wearing any underwear. 

Or… underwear of any substance at least.

Draco glances back at him as he heads to the fridge to grab a beer. "Don't look at me like that," he says as he closes the fridge door. "It's bloody hot. I had to take a shower." He pops the cap and points at Harry with the neck of the bottle. "You could have taken one too if you'd just listen and leave your clothes with me. I told you I have the room." 

Harry carefully rests the bag down and then begins to unpack all the boxes of food onto the countertop, unwilling to trust himself to speak intelligibly. He wishes there were some sort of rulebook to tell him how to deal with a Draco whose skin is still damp, and whose hair falls around his ears with a whisper of a slight wave, still darkened by water. 

He looks up just as Draco comes beside him to peer into one of the boxes of noodles. His fingers get tangled in his hair when he tries to push the strands behind his ear, and Harry gently prises his hands away. Draco freezes and looks down at him, his blond lashes fluttering when it seems he finally realises just how close Harry is. Then Harry loses his mind and leans in to kiss him. 

At first, it's only the slightest brush of Harry's mouth against Draco's, and the startled breath that Draco puffs out against Harry's lips, but even that's enough to weaken Harry's knees. But then Harry opens his mouth, and Draco gasps and leans into the kiss, trapping Harry against the countertop, his solid chest pressing exquisitely against Harry's. Draco's tongue explores his mouth like he knows his way around, like he's been here before, and Harry sighs and lets himself relax, lets himself live it all, even if it's just for the moment. One of Draco's hands settles just below Harry's ribs, and Harry lets loose a deep, guttural moan into Draco's mouth—which is apparently enough to bring them both back to reality. 

Draco pulls away first, though he doesn't move his hand, then shakes his head as if clearing it. 

"We can't," he says softly, unable or unwilling to look Harry in the eye. Harry pulls away, making much-needed space between them, and Draco's hand falls limply to his side.

"I know," Harry says, as he goes back to unpacking the takeaway. "Forget I did it."  
Draco doesn't say anything, but he doesn't move either, and after a while of trying to pretend it didn't happen, that he wasn't so bloody stupid, or wishing that he had a Time-Turner, or perhaps the strength to not have given in, Harry finally faces him. 

Draco's expression is one of exposed, genuine turmoil. "I can't risk—" Draco stops himself, then he tries again, stepping closer to Harry, but not at all trying to touch him.

"We're partners," he finally says. "I can't lose everything I've worked for, Harry, I'm sorry." 

Harry's throat closes up in that eternally infuriating way, and he has to clear it several times. He breathes a hollow laugh. "You ever wonder if the department you love so much is actually worth all your sacrifices?" 

Draco's grey eyes flash with heat and his jaw clenches, but Harry holds up a hand to quell the impending argument. "Don't answer that," he says. "Look, I'm sorry I… kissed you. Let's—" Harry takes a deep breath, and without planning to, he blurts, "I'm leaving the department." 

Before Harry can think to take it back, a thread of Draco's magic seems to escape from his control, and the box of steamed veg explodes its contents all over the countertop.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some French in this chapter. If you hover your curser over the French words, an English translation should appear!

Draco

Harry's only been gone for a few hours, but Draco keeps looking at his watch and pacing, wishing he could talk to him somehow. The bond, or whatever it is that suddenly links them, is both selfish and demanding. Draco had even found his old mobile and plugged it in, but the bloody thing keeps telling him to "update" and he hasn't a damned clue what that means.

More than anything, he wants to leave the house. But the root of that compulsion lies only in knowing that just outside the door, walking the streets, are dozens—hundreds—of warm bodies and fresh blood.

So much blood.

He cobbled together his suppressant potion using only the basics of vampire physiology and herbs that he's grown himself, but he's almost certain that it's not healthy to to ignore his need to feed for quite so long.

The potion only numbs the appetite. His body still needs to feed to survive.

Draco knows this—understands it in the rational part of his brain—but he still cannot make himself _accept_ it. He can't yet imagine himself as a predator or picture the kinds of acts it will take for him to survive.

He escapes to the living room, switches on the television for the first time in months, and flips mindlessly through the channels, not knowing who anyone is or what they're doing. He had it installed mostly out of curiosity a few years ago, and since then he can count the number of times he's used it without Harry on one hand.

Harry had been the one to help him choose it. He'd also picked out the cable package and set up the monthly payments from Draco's Gringotts account, all because he knew it was something Draco wanted but was too afraid to pursue on his own. He had done it all without comment or criticism and had shared in Draco's fascination when everything had been switched on for the first time. He'd also kindly declined to take the mickey out of him when Draco had covered his ears and jumped as the surround sound boomed through his living room.

Every time he's sat through an entire movie it's been with Harry, either huddled over case files or having a drink. Harry had been so deeply embedded into Draco's life, had shown such care to be part of it, that it's almost ridiculous how impervious he had been to the weight of Harry's want—even if it was hidden beneath his many, _many_ layers.

Just as the world outside his windows begins to turn from bleak grey to true night, there's a knock at Draco's door. He walks down the hallway with his back tense, his feet barely making a sound on the wood floors as he nears the door.

He checks the peephole and his shoulders sag in relief. He opens the door and steps back, letting Gawain in before locking the door again behind him.

In the hallway, they face each other for a long moment. Draco examines the new smudges beneath Gawain's eyes and the way the hair at his temple seems to be even more tinged with grey since the last time Draco had seen him. Gawain studies Draco in turn, his gaze fixed on Draco's face as if searching for cracks.

"I'm all right," Draco says quietly. "Don't look at me as if I'm dead. Please."

Gawain shakes his head and pulls Draco in for a rough hug, and Draco clings to him before he can stop himself. "You're not dead." Gawain murmurs. 

Their embrace is long and filled with regrets and apologies, and Draco finds he has to collect himself before he can pull away—before he can let Gawain see his face again.

When he does pull away, Gawain pats his cheek and tries to give him a reassuring smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. A whiff of Gawain's scent, a soft pulse of hot air across Draco's face, causes his nostrils to flare, and the thirst, dull now due to the potion he's been force-feeding himself, pulses an insistent throb at the back of his mind.

He takes a deep breath through his mouth and tries to centre himself, tries not to think about how _good_ it would be to just give in to his thirst. 

"You look like shit," Draco says.

Gawain coughs a rueful laugh. "And you look amazing," he says. "Go fucking figure."

"I _feel_ like shit."

Gawain's forehead creases with concern but Draco waves him off. He doesn't want to talk about any of it—how he's had to spend the last hour stopping himself from Apparating to Harry's side, to hold him down and either fuck him or bite him—Draco isn't sure which he needs more.

"Firewhisky," he says abruptly. "We need Firewhisky."

He leads Gawain into the kitchen and then disappears into the pantry, shutting the door behind him, closing his eyes and resting his head against the heavy wood. If he doesn't get a grip soon, he's going to eat one of his friends.

The thought sends a hysterical bubble of laughter up his throat, and Gawain calls out, "You okay in there?"

"Yeah," he yells, then says beneath his breath, "Bloody marvellous."

He finds a bottle of Ogden's, 1986, the really good stuff, and he steps back into the kitchen, holding the bottle aloft as though he's made some sort of delicious conquest.

"My father would be happy to know I'm cracking open the stock he saved for my wedding."

Gawain laughs and sits at the barstool, pushing forward the two glasses he's apparently freed from the cupboard and already filled with two whisky stones frosted over with a Freezing Charm. Draco pours them both a generous finger, and they salute without words, and drink.

The burn is a welcome distraction from the thirst; Draco closes his eyes, relishing it. "Considering I was meant to be married at least ten years ago, I think this is overdue."

Draco opens his eyes, looking closely Gawain. He looks tired and strangely small, as though, even over the short time he's been away, he's lost some of the bulk that Draco has always associated with him.

Gawain looks up and finds Draco studying him. "I've had a lot of explaining to do," he murmurs.

"I suppose the Ministry is very cross with you."

" _Cross_ is one way to put it."

"Well. What did you expect? You put their least favourite Death Eater into the field, and then you let him go rogue."

Gawain finishes his drink and immediately pours himself another. "I've also lost one of my own."

"She is not lost," Draco's sharp voice cuts across the room.

Gawain doesn't say anything him for a moment. "They've taken the case away from the Auror department."

The news doesn't surprise him, but it's news all the same. "I'm sorry."

"The investigation is now ‘officially in the purview of the Department of Mysteries.'" Gawain sounds like he's quoting someone a lot more officious than himself. "At least, that's what Kingsley tells me."

"So, I'm off the case. Completely."

Gawain takes a sip of his drink. "Is Potter working with you on recovering your memories?"

"I—yes." Draco rubs his forehead trying to quell the throb of pain pulsing there. "It's complicated."

"Be careful, Draco," he says. "I know you and him have your…." Gawain gestures vaguely and Draco raises his eyebrows. 

"Our… what, exactly?" 

Gawain gives him a look. "I'm just saying. They call him _Mindbreaker_ for a reason."

Draco stifles the urge to smile. "Mindbreaker… really?"

Gawain swirls the liquid in his glass. "He's quite famous in the department, apparently," he says. "He can suss out a mole faster than Lockhart can kill brain cells."

"I—" Draco doesn't know how to respond to any of this. "I don't really know much about the Unspeakables. They keep to themselves, don't they?"

"They do whatever they want, and the Ministry can't control them. _Magnus_ doesn't even answer to the Head Warlock of the Wizengamot."

"Magnus?"

"It's what they call their department head. Whoever the bloody hell _they_ are. They have their own rules, and they make them up as they go along. Not to mention, they're run by a bunch of…." Gawain waves his hand, seemingly searching for an insult that will cut deep enough.

"A bunch of… what?"

"Motherfuckin' Ravenclaws." Gawain says it darkly, as though there could be nothing worse. "You've seen Potter's gadgets, haven't you? The bracelets on his wrist. They're all magical artefacts, you know. God knows how they make them, or if they're even Ministry sanctioned." Gawain takes another sip of his drink. "They say his handler can make anything." Gawain sighs morosely and takes another sip of his drink. "What I'd do to have that kind of talent in my department."

Draco laughs. "What, instead of a sad lot like Padma and me?"

"Oh, shut up," Gawain says, looking thoroughly fed up. "I don't need fucking Harry Potter. My agents are best in the bloody Ministry, I don't give a shit what the Wizengamot says."

Draco eyes him across the countertop and slowly sets his glass on the marble countertop. Gawain lifts his gaze and stares at him, his hazel eyes dark and muddy.

"You told them," Draco says quietly.

"I had to. I had a responsibility to give them the details of the case. And I have to defend you if they try to accuse you of anything." He pauses. "You were under my orders, I had to deal with the consequences."

Draco stares at him, horrified. "And what about my consequences?"

"You can't hide it forever. Not from the Auror department."

"Yes, I bloody well can! That's exactly what I intended to do!" Draco shuts his mouth, takes a deep breath, and tries to swallow, but the lump in his throat only grows more resilient, choking him. "You came here to tell me something," Draco says. "And you wanted to do it face to face."

Gawain hesitates. "Draco…."

Draco closes his eyes briefly as he clenches his fists. "Just say it, Gawain," Draco says, his voice breaking against his will.

Gawain draws himself up and looks Draco square in the eyes. "Because of your new… condition… you've been released from the Auror Corps."

Draco tries several times to speak, but he only ends up nodding his head repeatedly. "I knew they would do it," he says quietly. "I knew they would."

"I am so sorry."

Draco waves a hand. "It doesn't matter."

"Draco…."

"Remember, all those years ago? When I first wanted to be part of this? They didn't want me then, did they? You had to fight them at every turn. Now they've found something they can use. Because it's official. It's in their little fucking rule book. After all this time, they finally found something."

"I've put in an appeal on their decision," Gawain says. "It's on hold until we close your investigation." Gawain gently touches Draco's shoulder. "This isn't over. We can still fight it."

"Yes. We can." Draco nods agreeably. He picks up the empty glasses and carries them to the sink, where he stands, palms pressed against the countertop, his nails digging into its surface. He gazes blankly out the window that overlooks his small outdoor garden, hemmed in by the high white walls of the building beside his. "Thank you for telling me."

Gawain remains quiet for a moment. "Do you want me to leave?"

Draco turns and gives him a small, tight smile. "If you don't mind," he says briskly. "To be quite honest, all I can think about is the way your blood might taste." Draco brushes the hair off his neck with a careless gesture. "It's probably best that you go now."

Gawain's stares blankly at him. "That's not funny," he says, an angry frown forming on his face. "And I don't believe it for a second."

"That's because you don't understand my nature quite yet. But the Wizengamot surely does." Draco waves a hand. "Make every appeal you like, Robards, but they'll never let me back into the department. I don't blame them."

Gawain opens his mouth, then he closes it again. He slowly gets up from his place at the island, as though afraid Draco will startle at any sudden movements, like a deer. "You know, you don't have to push me away, don't you?"

Draco nods a little too quickly. "I just need some time alone. If that's all right." He says it conversationally, as if asking to be served at a formal tea service.

"Okay." Gawain gathers his robes, and they both walk sombrely to Draco's front door. Draco opens it and steps aside. On the stoop, Gawain moves to touch him, but Draco flinches, and Gawain drops his hand immediately with a small sigh. "Send me an owl in the morning. Please. Just let me know you're all right."

Draco nods. "I will."

Draco closes the door, spells off all the lights in his flat, uncaps the bottle of Firewhisky, and knocks back as much as he can in a single gulp.

Strange how much a single action can change the course of his entire life. Stranger still that a single decision can utterly destroy it.

Draco comes awake with a jolt down his spine and his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He sits still, trying to quell its rapid-fire pace, and spends entirely too much time staring at the vaulted ceiling of his living room and contemplating the shapes of the walls.

He'd waited to buy this flat only after he'd been officially sworn in to the Auror department, because he hadn't wanted to let himself believe the future he was trying to achieve was possible. Then suddenly it was. Harry was his partner, and for once in his life, he was doing something good with one of the greatest wizards on the planet by his side. It had all seemed like an unfathomable dream.

One he didn't fool himself into thinking he deserved.

His father liked to pretend he didn't approve of such a Muggle purchase, but Draco knew he was pleased. The flat is in Kensington, and it's expensive and stylish—it says to anyone who has the chance to view it that Draco is a man with money and breeding. That kind of bullshit is important to Lucius.

Draco had just wanted somewhere to call his own.

He checks his watch and his stomach roils uncomfortably when he realises it's been over six hours since he'd last seen Harry. He gets up stiffly from the couch, where he had passed out after drinking almost half the bottle of Firewhisky in a manic haze, and shuffles towards the bathroom, occasionally grabbing hold of the walls for support. His neck is stiff, and when he flicks the switch to light the bathroom, it sends a piercing stab of pain behind his eyelids. He leans over the sink, bracing his palms on the limestone countertop, and cringes at his reflection.

His cheeks are prickly with stubble and, having nothing better to do, he pulls out his shaving kit to remedy it. To at least try to make himself _feel_ human again. He activates his self-foaming brush with a touch and peers into the mirror as he waits, studying his face with a vague sense of bemusement. 

He expects his eyes to be bloodshot and the tender skin beneath them to be smudged with blue-grey circles, but there's no human signs of his impromptu bender, only the strange, flawless perfection he saw the last time he observed himself. He forces himself to look at it, to accept his new face for what it is.

He picks up the brush and lathers his cheeks, sharpening the blade of his straight razor with a wandless spell before he begins to shave. The Aurors don't want him. Merlin knows what he's going to do with himself after this case is over. Surely no one else at the Ministry will fight for him besides Gawain.

And Harry, perhaps.

If he really is out, he'll barely see Gawain anymore. Gawain has become almost a fixed point in his life, ever since he found Draco in yet another pub he shouldn't have been in, stupid drunk and belligerent and behaving like even more of an arse than he was at Hogwarts. Gawain had taken him out, cleaned him up, and told him if he could pass his NEWT exams in the next six months, that he'd have a guaranteed spot in the Auror Training Programme. At the time, Draco had never even considered a career in law enforcement, but back then, not even Lucius could find it in himself to give Draco hope for the future. Gawain was the first one who ever made him feel he even had one. Maybe even one where he could do something good. Show people that not all of him was bad. Not all of him was irredeemable

All through Draco's training, Gawain was kind and patient, and he'd fought for Draco when no one else would. Draco still doesn't know why or what he's ever done to earn it.

He lets out a short, startled gasp and drops the blade into the sink with a loud clatter when he nicks his jaw. He presses his fingers against the spot, grabs a towel from the rack and leans over the sink again to examine the cut. When he removes the towel to check the wound, his skin is whole and unmarked beneath the stain of blood. 

Draco stares at his reflection, both fascinated and distraught. Almost robotically, he picks the blade up from the sink, his mouth halfway open, studying the smear of blood on its surface. He turns over his forearm and uses the edge of the blade to slice a deep line from wrist to elbow in a single, decisive stroke. It hurts. It hurts much more than he expects, but the pain is a distant thing. Dark blood rises and pools, drips into the sink, and in the time it takes for him to set the blade down, his fingers still slick, his skin begins to stitch itself back together.

Draco makes an inhuman sound and clutches his hair, and wishes, quietly, that this would all stop. His despair, his pain, time itself, any will do. He lashes out with his bloody arm and flings everything off his countertop with a vicious swipe. Half-full bottles of scented potions and skin care treatments shatter as they fall, their cloying scents assaulting his new, delicate senses. Draco turns and yanks at the towel racks with all of his strength, ripping them from the wall and throwing them across the room without stopping to question when he had become powerful enough to do that. One of the silver racks crashes into the shower door and it shatters all around him, raining small pieces of glass throughout the bathroom and covering the pale tile with finely shattered shards that look like snow.

Like the snow on the ground at Vyken's cabin.

He clutches at his head again, this time with a sense of exhausted frustration. Through all of this, someone has been battering at his Occlumency shields unrelentingly and with a fierce sort of determination. Thinking briefly of Harry, and how very likely he is to kill Draco for this decision, Draco lets them in, even as he braces himself for a mental onslaught from Vyken himself. 

_… Draco. Calm down._

Draco looks around in surprise. Somehow, he'd wandered into his shower stall. _Who are you? Why are you in my head?_ He sinks down to the floor, ignoring the way the glass cuts into his skin, knowing now that it will heal anyway.

_Stop panicking for a moment, and think. Don't you recognise me at all?_

Sucking in a breath, Draco tries to focus. The voice _does_ sound familiar, and the feel of it is calm and gentle on his mind. _You did this to me._

There is a brief pause. _I saved you when he left you to die._

_You took everything from me._

_Ne sois pas dramatique, Draco. Ta vie n'est pas terminée._ There's another brief pause, and then the voice returns, the tone almost apologetic. _You were going to die, and I didn't know what else to do._

Draco searches the darkness of his memory, and yes, there, beneath the haze of blood and betrayal and death, there is a face. One he remembers not with fear, but with thirst and gratitude. Someone who pressed a cool cloth against his head and let him feed on the only thing that would save him. His blood. Someone with deep auburn hair and an eternal scowl etched onto his handsome, sculpted face.

 _Jules?_

_Oui, c'est moi._

_You're… not Vyken._

_I'm not Vyken._

Draco lets out a small sob and covers his face with his blood-streaked palms.

_Draco, I know this is all confusing._

_Tu es dans ma tête._ _How can you be in my head?_

_It's a bond we share. You can try to block me out, but I'll always come back._

_Je ne te veux pas ici._ _I don't want any of this._

There's a pause, and Draco can actually _feel_ Jules' acute sense of rejection and hurt on hearing this, like a father being turned away by his son.

_Be that as it may, it is what you are._

Draco sobs again, alarmed at the tears falling down his face. When was the last time he cried like this? 

_You need to feed. The thirst is breaking you apart. You can't keep ignoring it._

_I can't… feed._

_You must. You will put yourself and your mate in danger._

At the last, Draco stills. "My… what?" 

Then, as if Summoned, Harry stalks into the destroyed bathroom, wand at the ready as though charging into battle. When he spots Draco sitting slumped in shower stall, he abruptly halts and stares at the mess of blood and glass, his face struck with horror. He seems to rouse himself, and rushes towards Draco's slumped form, glass crunching beneath his boots. He kneels in front of Draco and cups his face in his palms. "What happened?" Harry looks around the room, his green eyes bright with confusion. "Are you hurt?"

_I need to see you. There are things you need to know._

"No," Draco says, answering both of them at once.

_For his sake you must. He's with you now, isn't he? I can feel your bond._

"Harry…. "

Harry shakes him gently. "Did you do this? What were you thinking?"

_Why do you call him my mate?_

_C'est ce qu'il est._

"Help me." Draco isn't sure which of them he's asking.

Harry takes his hand and helps him stand. He wraps an arm around Draco's waist and leads him to the bedroom, where he sits Draco on the bed and carefully spells the blood off his face. Draco wishes he could sit there forever—let Harry take care of him forever, forget about everything else, and pretend he's normal. He wishes he could let Harry take him to bed and settle him there, lay his head on Harry's chest, close his eyes, and properly sleep.

But that's not his life, and it isn't Harry's, either.

Draco studies Harry's face as he tends to him, lamenting the new frown lines on his forehead and the tight corners on his full mouth.

Draco takes his hand, holds it tightly. "I let him in." 

"Let who in?" Harry turns over Draco's palm and inspects the length of his forearm, looking, presumably, for a wound. "Why was there so much blood?"

"I cut myself."

Harry gives him a sharp look. "On purpose?" He picks up Draco's other arm, still turning it over, looking confused.

"It's not what you think," Draco says, pulling his hand away. "Besides, that's not the important part."

"You hurting yourself _is_ important."

Draco takes holds of both of Harry's wrists to keep him still. "I let him in, Harry. He's in my head."

Harry stills. "Not Vyken…?"

"No," Draco says with a quick shake of his head. "Another vampire from the coven. Jules. I remember who he is."

Harry stares at him. "Why would you let him in when you were alone? What would have happened to you if it was—"

"I was upset. I wasn't thinking," Draco's breath hitches again, and feels dangerously close to crying. "Harry, they sacked me."

There's a moment of stunned silence, and then Harry's face falls in painful sympathy. 

"Oh, Draco." Harry leans forward and brushes a kiss against Draco's forehead, leaving his lips pressed against his skin as Draco wraps his arms around Harry's waist and closes his eyes. Harry pulls away and rests his chin on Draco's head, absently tucking away the stray strands of Draco's hair. "I am so sorry." 

"I knew it was coming," Draco says, wiping his cheeks as Harry detaches from him. "But I can't focus on that now. We need to figure this out."

Harry's gaze wanders off as he stands very still. After being his partner for seven years, Draco recognises his mental debriefing process and gives Harry a moment as he carefully turns everything over in his mind, deciding which problem to assess first. Most people would see it as zoning out, but that's something Harry rarely does.

"Is he still there?" he finally asks, rubbing his temples.

_Tu es là?_

_En train d'attendre patiemment._

Draco nods. "He wants to meet. He says there are things we need to know."

Harry releases a long sigh, then checks his watch. "We may have to."

Draco studies him carefully, noticing for the first time how pale Harry's complexion is, how Harry's smile lines are stark and pinched. "You found something," he says slowly. "Luna had the case files."

Harry avoids his gaze. "Not exactly," he says. "Set up a meeting, ten minutes if he's close enough. It's late, but we need to know what answers he can give us."

"You're protecting someone," Draco says slowly. "You know who the mole is."

"I'm not protecting them," Harry says sharply. "He won't have the answers we need, so trying to address that now is useless. But your—the vampire."

"Jules."

"Yes. He might."

Draco stares at him in disbelief. "I want to know who it is, Harry."

"After we meet with… Jules, I'll make him tell you himself," Harry says. "Please. Draco. Just trust me. But we need these answers _now._ "

Draco pushes past Harry and yanks out a clean uniform and cloak from his wardrobe. Fuck the Ministry if they have anything to say about it.

_Where can we meet?_

_There is a shop in Knockturn Alley. Borgin and Burkes. Do you know it?_

Draco straightens up. _Of course I know it. But how—?_ His gaze flits to Harry's across the room. _Tu es un sorcier?_

 _Non._ There's a brief pause. _But my mate is._

Harry Apparates them both to just outside Knockturn Alley. As they land—both dressed in uniform with Harry completely unrecognisable in his solid black-leather-and-mesh Hood—Draco staggers and has to hold on to Harry for support. Something painful begins to form in Draco's gut, and he hunches over, trying not to gag. Harry holds him up without missing a step and leads them into the small alley behind Borgin and Burkes.

They narrowly avoid bumping into two cross-looking witches busily going about their late-night Knockturn Alley business. When they're alone, Harry pushes Draco up against the wall and holds him there, presumably to give him a chance to settle himself.

Draco rests his forehead on Harry's shoulder. "I'm all right," he says, clutching his stomach as it roils. "Only dizzy from the jump."

Harry pulls away, the black mesh of his Hood gleaning in the lamplight as he studies Draco's face. "That's not it," he says. "There's something else."

Draco pushes him off, then stands upright and fixes his clothes. "I'm fine. Let's go."

The scent of the narrow alley is cloying—remnants of old food and dirty potion-water flung into its drains—but his brain quickly dismisses these notes in favour of the sweet and intoxicating aroma of fresh, pulsing blood.

He's lost track of the days, but it must be a weekend, because over on Diagon Alley, the streets are still humming with people even at this hour. It's only a few steps away, and some of them may be drunk or alone. Maybe he could—

Harry slaps his cheek hard enough to make his head turn, and on instinct, Draco lunges at him, reaching for Harry's throat. Harry knocks his hand away with a hard swing and grabs Draco's wrist, pulling him close then spinning him around. He flattens Draco's body against the opposite wall and jams his elbow into Draco's back.

Panting, Draco closes his eyes and swallows, noticing only then that his canines are descended. He breathes deeply and goes lax under Harry's hold. They stay like that for a minute or two, and the heavy weight of bloodlust that was bearing down in Draco's mind begins to lift, then slowly tapers off.

"Are you good?" Harry breathes into his ear. "Or should I restrain you?"

Draco shakes his head. "I have it under control."

"Are you sure?"

Draco rests his forehead against the rough brick, searching his senses for any remaining primal urges, but all he can feel is the numbness of his potion. "I lost focus," he pants. "I'm fine now."

Harry steps back and lets him up, and Draco dusts off his robes as his canines retract.

They stand facing each other in the narrow space, and Draco wishes he could see Harry's face, to know if his expression is one of disgust or fear or even something worse, like pity.

"How—?"

"Your eyes… they changed."

Draco nods, embarrassed. This is something he never wanted anyone to see—the evidence of his never-ending thirst. He can live with people knowing he's a vampire in the abstract, but for someone to see it first-hand, his desire to kill people, and then to have it be Harry….

Draco looks at his shoes. "We should keep going."

Harry starts to say something, then seems to rethink it. He gestures for Draco to lead the way. As they walk side by side, he says, "We're going through the back. I want them to be surprised if they're lying in wait."

"You don't think he's alone."

"Would you be?"

They both turn the corner that ends at the back entrance of the shop. It's protected by a massive, solid oak door, painted black, with a simple, round door knob. No lock, no keyhole of any kind. On the door is a brass sign: _Intruders will be cursed!_

"Theo's uncle bought this place after the war," Draco says quietly into the darkness. "He really doesn't give a shit about dark magic sanctions on security wards."

Harry turns to him, and though Draco cannot see his face beneath the mesh, Draco knows he's smiling.

"No worries." Harry pushes up his sleeve and unclasps one of the bracelets from his wrist. He hesitates, then looks back over his shoulder. "You should probably step back."

Draco does so, watching with some fascination as Harry carefully levitates the bracelet to slip over the doorknob. It's a stretch, but it fits, and when it does, Harry steps back and raises his palm. He hovers it over the surface of the door, not quite touching, and Harry murmurs something Draco doesn't catch. The bracelet separates itself into dozens of small red tendrils that expand across the doorway, spread to each corner, and then disappear beneath. The door begins to silently vibrate, and somehow Draco can _feel_ the bracelet dismantling every ward that has ever been placed on not just the door, but on the entire lower basement itself.

In a sort of anti-climax, the door swings slowly open, and Draco peers into the dark storeroom. The tendrils retract, and Harry retrieves his bracelet from the doorknob and slips it back on. "Let's go."

Draco laughs and rolls his eyes. "You only did that to show off your bloody gadget, you preening little git."

Harry makes a finger gun at him. "You know it." He hops over the threshold and into the storeroom, wand held aloft, and Draco follows him, wishing for his own wand so he could be of use.

Once inside, the door gently closes behind them, descending them into darkness. This doesn't affect Draco's vision as much as it would have before, but Harry has to cast a _Lumos_ to brighten the room.

Coming down a spiral staircase, his arms laden with books, is Jules. His long auburn hair is tucked behind his ears, and he's dressed innocuously in a light-blue jumper and jeans. If Draco didn't know better, he could easily believe that Jules is an average, simple human.

Jules halts on the edge of one step as he spots them, and his mouth falls open in shock. The stack of books falls from his hands and tumbles all the way down the staircase in a series of loud, booming thumps. They all stare at each other in a moment of stunned silence, and then Jules holds his hands up and walks down the staircase, slowly and carefully.

"How did you get in?" His voice is a hoarse, smoky drawl, with the barest trace of his French accent.

As soon as Jules hops off the staircase and into Harry's range, Harry whips another of his gadgets from his belt and tosses it at Jules' head. The silver orb pulses midair, and with a low _whirr,_ it expands into a set of rope-like vines that wrap around Jules' body and bring him forcefully to his knees.

The vines bury themselves into the ground, seamlessly merging with the concrete and snapping tight until Jules irrevocably bound, his long arms stretched out on either side of his body. 

" _Eh merde!_ Are you fucking crazy?!"

Harry steps over one of the rope-vines and moves close enough to Jules to point his wand at the centre of Jules' head. "One wrong move, and I'll scramble your brain."

Jules' pale blue eyes flick to Draco's. _Il est toujours comme ça?_

Stunned at both Harry's lighting fast take-down, and Jules' voice sounding off in his head even as he kneels right before him, Draco steps cautiously towards them both. "Just stay very still," he says.

Harry looks between them, then raises his eyebrows. "Stay out of his head if you like keeping your memories safely in your own."

Jules looks up at Harry, a scowl etched deep into his flawless skin. "I can't help it," he says tightly. "He belongs to me."

Harry's fingers twitch on his wand. " _Excuse me?!_ "

Jules rolls his eyes. "I mean, I turned him. The connection between us is… difficult to suppress."

Harry looks down at him, and the silence grows long enough for Draco to start to get worried. He gently touches Harry's elbow, but Harry doesn't acknowledge him. "Try very, _very_ hard," he says in a voice cold as ice.

Draco steps around him to address Jules before Harry completely loses his grip and melts Jules' brains. "Talk."

"You think you could loosen these ropes a bit?" Jules bites out. "You're messing with my circulation."

Harry acts as though he doesn't hear this and, after a moment, Draco slants him a look. "We need him to talk."

With a sigh, Harry waves a palm, and the ropes loosen.

Jules releases a breath. "Fuckin' Hoods," he says darkly. "I know all about you lot." 

Harry rolls his eyes. "Yeah? What do you think you know?"

"You keep our brains in jars because you can't fathom any kind of power that exists without magic." Jules looks to Draco. _"Ils n'apprécient pas le fait qu'on puisse communiquer sans parler. Qu'on soit plus forts qu'eux."_ He smiles sweetly at Harry, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "He doesn't like that I could break these bonds if I really wanted."

"Why don't you try it, then?" Harry asks, stooping down to Jules' eye level.

"Your mate wouldn't approve."

At that, Harry finally falters. "My—what?"

There is a moment of silence, and in it, a wave of pain hits Draco's chest like a sledgehammer. He clutches at it, trying to remain quiet even though he's sure his heart is about to burst. Then, when he's almost doubled over with the pain of the hit, he's suddenly able to breathe again. His heart seems to stutter then restarts, beating loud, heavy thuds in his ear. He coughs heavily, and Jules' concerned gaze cuts to him as his defiant expression falters.

"Draco. You _have_ to feed. That pain you feel now will only get worse."

Harry looks sharply at Draco as well. "I knew you were hiding something." He crosses the room and puts a hand on Draco's shoulder, but Draco wrenches out of his grasp and stalks towards Jules.

" _Talk._ "

"Le sang est ton seul vrai moyen de subsistance; your heart _will_ stop if you keep ignoring your thirst."

Draco grabs Jules' chin and lifts it upwards so he can look him in the eye. He senses Harry stepping towards them both, but he doesn't let Jules go. "Why did you do it?"

"To save your life," Jules gasps as Draco's fingernails cut into his skin. "I left you with the potion so that you'd have a choice."

Draco drops his hand, desperately searching his memory. "What happened?"

"You really don't remember anything?" Jules asks softly.

"Does it seem like I do?" Draco snarls. "What exactly should I remember about you?"

"I was like you," Jules says. "I was a spy in Vyken's coven."

Harry steps around them, standing at Jules' shoulder. "A spy for who?"

"Who do you think?" Jules scowls at Harry. "As much as you lot like to believe that vampires are a bunch of animals without moral codes, we do have our own justice system. You're not the only one who needed Vyken under control. He was kidnapping Muggles off the street. Everyone knew it."

"Did you tell me who you were?" Draco asks, voice faint. "At the coven?"

"I told you a few days before you disappeared." Jules shakes his head. "Because of you, Vyken was getting too powerful. I tried to explain why I was there, so we could form an alliance. We were supposed to meet again that night. When I came to find you, you were gone, and so was Vyken."

Draco and Harry exchange a look over Jules' head. "What happened?" Draco asks. 

"I don't know. I found you in a catacomb half dead. You'd been bitten, almost entirely bled. Your head was bleeding. I fed you so you'd stay alive." Jules pauses, looking up at Draco, with an imploring gaze. "You had maybe a minute of life left. It was all I could think to do."

Draco holds up a hand to stop him. "The rest I know."

Jules clenches his jaw and then then lifts his chin. "Can you let me up? I'm not going to hurt either of you."

Draco turns to Harry and nods. After another's moment's deliberation, Harry holds out an upright palm and the ropes twitch and retract and reform the small, silver orb, which floats gently back to his hand.

Jules stands up, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his wrists. "Vyken resents the leader of my coven; it's what started all of this. That, and his obsession with magic."

"Why?"

"Our coven was growing… other groups started to join us. We formed a coalition of sorts. We share resources and supplies, Givers, homes." Jules pauses. "Vyken doesn't like that, he feels threatened. He thinks my leader is too powerful."

Harry frowns. "What does this have to do with kidnapping Muggles?"

"I'm not entirely sure. We think it's all a part of his bid for control of our community. He's trying to block our resources, make us desperate, then he'll either offer the humans up as a means of control, or he'll use them to survive while he starves the rest of us out." Jules studies their expressions, then shakes his head and adds, "If you think that sounds insane, it's because Vyken _is_ insane." Jules runs his fingers through his hair and sits on one of the spiral steps at the base of the staircase.

"But how would that happen? What power does he have to do all of that?"

"Le tien, Draco," Jules says lightly.

Harry steps forward. "What resources are you talking about?"

Jules seems to consider his answer carefully. "Our community has… very specific methods of travel," he says, as if weighing his words. "Vyken has found a way to block access to our portals.

Draco shakes his head, rubbing his temples. It's all too much information at once, but some of it feels familiar, as though this discovery is one he's made before. "What exactly are those?"

"I can't explain it to you," Jules says. "I don't understand it well enough myself. Only my leader can." Jules pauses and chews his lower lip, looking hesitant. "What I can say is that Vyken has found a way to block access to more than half of them, and every day he takes possession of more. Soon we won't have access to the world outside.." 

Draco opens his mouth and closes it, then looks at Harry who has a similar expression of frustrated confusion. "Vyken has my partner," Draco says. "Do you know anything about that?"

Jules looks between them, eyebrows raised. "She's alive. Vyken can't feed on her until the magic he stole from you dissipates." Jules blue eyes stray to Draco. "Even then he may not." 

Harry frowns. Why?" 

"Because Vyken is obsessed with getting Draco back," Jules says. "If he thinks being kind to your friend will do it, then he won't touch her." 

Harry makes a sound and begins to pace. "Fucking hell."

"We have to work together," Jules insists. "I can tell my leader you're willing to help us, and he'll agree to meet with you, give you access to Vyken's coven, find your partner." Jules pauses and looks between them. "In exchange, you help us restore the portals."

Draco's heart lifts, thinking only of Padma. "You know where the coven lives?"

"No, but we know the location of a portal that's not under Vyken's control. We can take you there."

Harry stops pacing. "Give us twenty-four hours. There's someone that Draco and I need to see. We'll contact you with a place to meet. You take us to Vyken, my team goes in, we get everyone out…." His gaze drifts to Draco's. "Then, we deal with Vyken and help you with whatever the fuck a portal is."

Jules looks between them both, and then he nods and digs into his pocket. He pulls out a mobile and tries to hand it to Draco. "Do you have a number?"

Harry snatches the phone from his hand, and Jules grins and raises an eyebrow. "Jealous little fucker, isn't he?"

Harry punches in his number and hands Jules the phone back. "Call me so I have yours. We'll call with a plan."

Jules nods, then glances at Draco. "Can I have a word with him? Alone?

Harry frowns, but acquiesces. "Five minutes," he says, as he walks over to the exit. "Then I'm coming back."

After Harry leaves, Jules immediately switches back to mental communication, and Draco is more than a little disturbed to discover how much he's been craving it, and how much more _natural_ it feels.

 _Tu fais l'idiot._ _What good is starving yourself going to do?_

_Even if I did want to… feed. I—I don't know how._

Jules steps closer to him and takes his elbow.

_It will come naturally to you. You don't have to think about it._

Draco gently pulls his arm away, but he doesn't step back. Being close to Jules makes him feel somehow safe and protected.

_There are Givers who would be more than happy to help you._

Draco shakes his head. _I can't. I have to go. We'll call you._

He turns away from Jules' almost painful concern, intending to leave, but in the doorway, he halts, turning back.

_The leader of your coven, the wizard. Do they have a name, or do you just call them ‘my leader' all the time?_

Jules smiles. _He's not just my leader. He's also my mate. Je suis un peu protecteur._

"What's his name?"

There is a pause, and Jules' gaze drifts to the staircase and back. _His name is Nott. Theo Nott._


	6. Chapter 6

Draco

"Padma," Draco says quietly into his magicom. "I wish you could see this."

"You'll have to Pensieve it for me when you get home."

Draco steps carefully along the dirt pathway, his wand held aloft to light the path ahead of him. "You know I have no clue how to work a Pensieve."

"Neither do I," Padma says. "But I'm sure I can figure it out."

The walls of the underground tunnel are tightly packed with human skulls, and judging by the darkness ahead, it stretches for at least a couple hundred metres or more. "It's a catacomb." Draco lifts a palm to touch one of the skulls, fascinated by the cold gritty feel of ancient bone beneath his fingertips.

Ahead of him, Dean Thomas trudges along, barely steady on his feet, a conjured blanket draped across his shoulders.

Draco pauses, observing Dean's gait. "Padma, they've been drugging him." He tries to speak quietly, but his voice still echoes. "I'm not sure how much longer he'll be able to stay on his feet."

"Follow the tunnel," Padma says. "I'm sure it's the way out. From what you've told me, this must be the way they travel. Maybe the tunnel leads to some kind of…." She trails off into silence.

"Yeah. I'm just as clueless as you are, Ravenclaw."

"Shut up, you. I have no clue where you're going, but I'm certain it's the way out."

"You're right," Draco says. "I just wish I didn't have to cut things short. Vyken was beginning to trust me, I know it. I was getting close. He would have told me what his plans were."

"He's a psychopath, Draco. I don't think he trusts anyone."

Draco bites his tongue on that one. Yes, Vyken's plans were… insane, but on some level, Draco could understand him; he wanted to keep his coven safe. He just had a really self-centred way of going about it.

"Besides," Padma goes on, interrupting his thoughts. "If you find the way out, you find the way in again." She pauses. "Then you go back in, this time with backup at your side." She stops for breath and adds, "With me at your side."

He smiles, though she can't see it. "You're still sore you couldn't be here."

"Shut up."

Ahead, Dean staggers and loses his footing.

"Dean, stop." Draco trots a little to catch up with him, lifting his wand to observe Dean's bloodshot eyes. He looks a lot more coherent than he did an hour ago, when he showed up in Vyken's cabin, half-naked and barely lucid. "I'm sorry, but we won't get far unless you let me cast a healing spell on you."

Dean eyes Draco's wand the same way one would eye a vicious snake. He swallows, then closes his eyes, his face turning grey. "Okay," he says. "Do it."

Padma talks him through a series of healing spells—one to clear the fuzz in Dean's head, another to remove any traces of drugs in his system, and a third for his stomach and nausea. Through it all, Dean keeps his eyes closed, his hands clenched.

When he's finished, Draco puts a hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean opens his eyes. Draco is grateful to see they're no longer bloodshot, and the grey cast to his complexion is slowly diminishing.

"I suppose you think it's stupid," Dean says. "Being afraid of magic."

Draco hesitates, unsure of what to say. He and Dean were never really close, but they had at least come to a first-name basis and could call themselves acquaintances, if not exactly friends. "I think the War fucked all of us up in different ways. We deal with it, however we can."

Dean looks down at the ground. "I'm not exactly afraid," he says quietly. "My therapist says it's a trigger. It takes me back to things that happened. In the forest… the battle." He looks up at Draco. "But it saved me from Vyken."

"How? What happened to you?"

Dean shrugs. "One minute I was walking home, the next I was here, hooked up to an IV." He looks down at the crook of his elbow; the skin there is irritated and raised. "My magic started resisting whatever was in it. I was lucid more and more every day. It helped me find you."

Draco squeezes his shoulder. "I'm glad it did." He casts a Warming Charm on the blanket over Dean's shoulders, and Dean smiles gratefully.

They both begin to head down the path again, but a loud, sharp crack thunders behind them, and its echo booms down the tunnel.

"What on earth was that?" Padma says in his ear.

"That was a gunshot!" Dean yells, looking panicked. 

"DRACO! You fucking traitor!" Vyken's voice is thin and high with fury, echoing through the catacomb as though he were using a Sonorous Charm.

Dean looks at Draco, eyes wide. "Come on!" he says, pulling Draco's arm. They both pick up the pace to a near-trot, but the earth below them is uneven and littered with stones and bone, and their tread is unsteady.

Another gunshot echoes down the length of the catacomb, sounding much closer than before, and dust begins to rain down from in-between the skulls.

"Give me the human, and I won't kill you!" Vyken's voice booms behind them. "I promise you that!"

Draco halts their retreat, and Dean turns to him, almost frantic. "You don't believe that, do you?"

"Not for a second, but I need you to go on ahead without me."

"What?! He'll kill you!"

Draco ignores this and glances back, knowing Vyken is edging closer by the minute. "Padma, I'm sending Dean ahead, but I have no idea where we are. I don't know how you'll extract him."

"That's why you can't send him alone!" Padma cries. "You have to be with him when he makes it out of the tunnel."

"Protocol dictates that civilians are priority—"

"Now is not the time for you to suddenly give a shit about protocol! I need _you_ back here alive."

Draco looks at Dean and tries to keep his voice calm and measured to not panic him. "If you don't go, he'll kill us both." 

Another gunshot cracks, and they both jump.

Vyken's probably only a few metres away now, and the only thing keeping them out of sight is the sharp bend in the path a few metres back. Draco takes Dean's hand, carefully places his wand in it, and closes his fingers around it. "When you make it out, contact the Auror department."

The tunnel shudders around them, and Vyken fires another gunshot. Draco shoves at Dean's shoulder, pushing him ahead. "Go!"

He doesn't wait to see if Dean follows his direction before he turns and walks back down the tunnel to face Vyken alone. He doesn't have to wander along the path for very long. He rounds one corner, and after a few metres walk, Vyken is there, a gun in his right hand, his dark blond hair wild, amber eyes bright with fury. He lifts the gun to Draco's head. "Where's your friend?"

Draco approaches him, palms up. "There's no one with me," he says. "I'm here alone."

Vyken halts, and his anger is etched into his unnaturally flawless face. He lowers his gun, and Draco notices, for the first time, the heartfelt look of betrayal in his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Vyken's voice is faint and raw.

"I was looking for the way out."

"Why?! Haven't I given you everything? Why do you want to leave us?"

"I don't want to leave you," Draco says quietly. "I was curious. Your scouts move so quickly." Draco eyes the gun and takes another step forward. "Paris and back. London and back. In a day. How do you do it?"

"You still think I would tell you our secrets? Even now?"

Draco tilts his head. "I thought you trusted me."

Vyken raises his gun as a tear tracks down his check. He swipes it angrily away. "I know what you are, _Auror._ "

"Padma, I'm sorry." Draco lunges forward at the same moment Vyken fires the gun, and the last thing he remembers as the bullet grazes his temple is the sound of his partner's frantic screams from the magicom buried in his ear.

*

Draco wakes on an unfamiliar sofa in a small, horribly decorated living room, and he sits up quickly, only to feel Harry's reassuring palm on his shoulder.

"It's all right," Harry says, kneeling in front of him. "You're in Seamus' apartment."

Draco sits up, rubbing his temple in the very spot he knows now that he had almost been shot. "What happened?"

"We came to talk to Seamus, but once you saw Dean, you passed out. You've been out for ten minutes." Harry cups his cheek. "I was really starting to get worried."

Draco wraps his fingers around Harry's wrist. "I'm all right." He looks over Harry's shoulder, and Dean steps into the room, looking clean and rested, but also tense with apprehension.

"You made it," Draco says, his voice scratchy.

Dean smiles hesitantly, and Harry moves out of the way to let him approach. "The catacomb led me to some kind of village," he says. "I only realised I was in France when the villagers started speaking to me." He pulls out Draco's wand and hands it to Draco, who takes it and stares down at it reverently, thrilling in the way his magic seems to settle around it like a homecoming. This is the second time it had been returned to him this way. He looks up at Harry, who smiles at him.

"It's a little bit déjà vu, isn't it?" Harry says, apparently recalling their own awkward reunion years before. 

Draco slips his wand into the holster on his thigh and looks to Dean. "How did you get home?"

Dean's gaze flicks to the other side of the room, and for the first time, Draco notices Seamus, standing in the hallway.

"I had to call Seamus from someone's home. He came for me."

Draco frowns. "Why didn't you go to the Ministry?" He looks across at Seamus. "Or to Robards?"

Seamus edges into the room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face pinched and caught between an expression of contrition and resentment. Draco looks between him and Harry, confused. "What's going on?"

"Seamus has something he needs to tell you."

"You could just tell him yourself," Seamus says, Irish accent thick and bitter, "seeing as how you rifled through my brain."

Harry gives Seamus a cutting glare. "I'd rather he hears it from you."

"You make it seem like I'm some kind of villain. This is me, Harry." He rounds the frayed, mustard-brown sofa opposite them and sits on the edge. "I swear to you, I didn't know."

Harry doesn't respond, but pointedly leans against the wall behind him and crosses his arms, looking expectant.

Seamus sighs, then seems to steel himself. He looks Draco dead in the eye and says, "I gave members of Vyken's coven information I shouldn't have."

Draco feels himself go cold. "What kind of information?"

"MLE patrol routes." He hesitates. "About two weeks ago, I heard the Auror department had an agent in play, and I told them." He looks between Draco and Harry. "I didn't know the agent was you, Malfoy. I swear."

It takes a lot of self-control for him not to lunge across the room and snap Seamus's neck.

 _Two weeks._ Vyken had known about Draco's betrayal long before he had confronted him.

Seamus holds up a hand. "Before you both try to kill me, at least let me explain."

Harry scoffs and begins to pace. Seamus looks away from him and gazes at Draco imploringly instead, but all Draco can think of is that the room smells deliciously of blood and fear.

He closes his eyes. "Harry…."

"Shit."

Draco can hear shuffling about as Harry casts concealment spells, but he only opens his eyes when Dean's and Seamus' scents completely disappear. 

He can tell from Seamus' expression that he's slowly putting two and two together. He would know the wand movement for scent concealment from their Auror training, and it wouldn't take a stretch to realise what Harry's actions must mean. Seamus licks his lips carefully. "Dean called me a few weeks ago; said he thought he was being followed. By the time I got there, all that was left was his mobile. They took him."

Dean takes up the thread of the conversation, his lofty tenor hesitant and subdued. "I dropped it on purpose," he says. "I managed to get a picture of them. I knew Seamus would find it."

"I recognised one of the vampires from our patrol routes." He closes his eyes. "I was stupid. I confronted them. I let them know they had something on me." His rubs his face with both his hands, and when he looks up again, he seems almost ten years older. "From that point on, they used me for intel." His gaze slide to Dean, who takes his hand. "They sent me his hair. A… a vial of his blood."

Harry pushes himself off the wall, his face a mask of quiet fury. "Why didn't you come to me? You shouldn't have tried to take that on your own."

"They said they would kill him! These are _vampires,_ Harry." His gaze flits to Draco as he says this, and Draco's stomach turns to stone. 

Seamus shakes his head. "To you, they were fairy tales. You weren't raised to be afraid." Harry's expression is stone cold. Seamus haltingly continues. "But, I _was._ I was terrified. What if it had been Ron or Hermione, Harry?" He looks to Draco. "What if it had been Harry? And every day, they told you they'd kill him? For weeks. What would you have done?"

Nonplussed that it is obvious to Seamus, of all people, what Harry means to him, Draco can't think of an answer.

"I would have told my friends," Harry answers instead. "I would have asked for help. I wouldn't have turned on someone else."

Seamus looks at Harry for a long time, then nods. "Well, then you're a better man than I am," he says. "But we've always known that."

"Don't make this about me. You had choices. You made the wrong ones."

Seamus takes the rebuff without comment, then continues. "When Luna let slip that Padma was running a case, I thought it might be the op I'd heard about and took the files to see the name of the agent I… betrayed." He looks up at Draco. "When I saw it was you, I—"

"You gave them the location in Somerset," Draco says quietly.

"Vyken wanted to know where you lived. I remembered it from when we all took that weekend in the country," Seamus said. "I didn't think you used it much. I figured I'd give him the bad intel… and then I'd hide, try to get Dean out myself."

"That's how they found Padma." Draco barely recognises his own voice. "It was her base of operations. You _told_ them where she was"

"I fucked up. I _know_ I fucked up, and I'm sorry. I wish I could undo it. But I can't. When I heard that Padma was missing, I knew it was my fault… but Dean was still gone…." Seamus buries his face in his hands, and Dean puts an arm around him, looking up at Harry and Draco with fearful eyes.

"We've been laying low since I got home. I've been having… withdrawal symptoms." He links his fingers with Seamus. "But Padma must be at the coven, Draco, right?" 

"She better fucking be," he says darkly, looking at Seamus. He's carefully studying his shoes and Draco can't decide whether to pity him or throttle him. "Dean, do you remember anything about the village outside the catacomb?"

Dean shakes his head. "Not much. I wandered for a while through the forest before I found it, but it doesn't matter. When I left the path, it disappeared. The tunnel was gone. It must be magic of some kind."

Draco's gaze flicks to Harry. "We need Jules."

Harry nods, and then he looks at Seamus. "You know what I have to do."

Seamus lifts his head and nods. "Malfoy—Draco. I'm so sorry for what I've done. I truly wish I didn't need to." He looks to Dean beside him and cups his face. "I never meant for any of this to happen, you know that, don't you? I only cared about you. I needed you home."

Draco studies them quietly, then he looks at Harry, observing the turmoil on his face, and knowing it must be on his own. If the roles had been reversed—if Harry were in danger, Draco would have given Seamus up in heartbeat. There's no doubt in his mind about that.

Draco stands unsteadily and gestures for Harry to follow him into the hallway, but Harry gives Draco a sharp look instead of following along. Draco raises his eyebrows and points to the doorway again, and Harry huffs his breath, but then he complies and leads the way out.

Before Draco follows, he halts beside Seamus and considers his words, not at all confident that _he_ is qualified to dole out moral advice. "I know what it's like to be held ransom by your love for someone," he says. "Be careful where that takes you. When you make decisions that hurt people, and put lives in danger, that's the point where you have to step back or, like Harry said, ask for help." Draco looks to the hall where Harry waits for him; he can hear the bugger still pacing around, his heart rate erratic. "Because you're right, Harry's a better man than everyone in this room. And I can't say I wouldn't have done the same things you did."

He follows Harry to the small entryway, where he is hovering between Seamus' coat closet and the front door.

Harry looks at Draco curiously, as if he's caught between holding him close, and going back into the living room to throttle Seamus on Draco's behalf.

"Harry." Draco puts his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Breathe."

Harry does so, taking a shaky breath and letting it out with a small laugh, "I'm sorry. I just… I could kill him, Draco, I really could."

"You're not the only one," Draco says. He sighs and releases Harry's shoulders. "Look, what happened to me is moot."

Harry shoves his shoulder and scowls. "It's not fucking moot to me."

"I went in knowing the risks. I knew what could happen, and I accepted it as part of the territory." Draco gestures down the hallway. He can hear Seamus quietly bidding his goodbyes to Dean. Dean seems unable to say anything, but his heart is racing, and Draco can almost taste his despair. "But Dean didn't ask for any of this, and if you take Seamus away from him now, I don't think he'll survive it."

"Draco—"

Draco puts his hand over Harry's mouth. "It's not my decision to make, but all I'm asking is to give them a little time before we make any decisions."

Harry shakes his head slowly, and his eyes widen with comprehension. "What kind of decisions? Draco, you almost _died._ "

"But I didn't," he says. "Please, go take a walk. Let me talk to them alone." He steps forward, and kisses Harry on the forehead. "For me?"

Harry laughs wetly. "That's so fucking Slytherin of you."

Draco smiles at him, and Harry opens the door, and with one final, conflicted look, he disappears outside.

Draco walks back to the living room, and both Dean and Seamus are standing, holding hands. When Draco enters the room, they look at him apprehensively.

Dean looks past Draco's shoulder. "Where's Harry?"

Draco looks Seamus in the eye. "We're going to find a way to get Padma back," he says. "Will you come with us?" 

Seamus nods decisively. "Of course," he says. "I'll do whatever I can." 

Dean squeezes Seamus' hand. "I want to go, too." Seamus tries to interrupt, but Dean waves him off. "I left all of those people behind, Seamus, I can't live with that any more than you can live with hurting Padma." 

Draco looks between them and nods. "I asked Harry to give you both a little time," he says. "I can't say what he'll do when this is all over." Draco leaves the rest of it implied: if Dean and Seamus want to run now, they could. But if they do, Draco will not try to stop Harry when he pursues them.

Seamus shakes his head. "I'll be there, Draco, just send me the word." 

"I'll call you." Draco turns, walks out of the flat, and locks the door behind him.

Harry is sitting on the last step outside Seamus' door, fiddling with his wand out in the open without a care. It's after one in the morning, and there aren't many people about, but still, Draco says, "You know there are regulations against that, don't you?"

Harry stands and turns towards him, shoving his wand in his sleeve. His looks to the apartment and back. "Did you do what I think you did?" he asks.

He brushes a stray strand of hair from Harry's forehead. "Do you really think Seamus deserves Azkaban?" he asks quietly. "You know he doesn't."

Harry swallows and looks away. Though they've never spoken about it, Draco knows the Dementors of Azkaban still haunt him. Even as partners, Harry had done everything he could to avoid having to go there or interact with the creatures in any way.

"They'll help us find Padma. I know he'll come. After that…." Draco shakes his head, remembering the way Dean had looked at Seamus when he thought they were going to be parted. "Dean deserves some happiness after all he's been through, don't you think?"

Harry looks up at him, eyes wide, and then he smiles brilliantly and tugs Draco close by the collar of his robes. "I know the timing is terrible," he says, quietly. "But I am completely in love with you."

His heart in full overdrive, Draco opens his mouth to try to come up with an appropriate response, but Harry puts his index finger over his lips. "Don't ruin it," he says. "Let's get you home. I need to brief Hermione."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some French in this chapter. If you hover your curser over the French words, an English translation should appear!

Draco

Draco spells on all the lights with a lazy wave of his hand as they shuffle through the flat in an exhausted stupor. As he checks the wards and gives the bedrooms a cursory sweep, Harry slinks off to the living room without a word, his nose buried in his mobile. Draco doesn't try to follow him, he only hovers in the hallway, taking the time to quietly admire Harry. It's one of the rare moments where he is completely unguarded, his posture relaxed, one knee bouncing restlessly as he stares at his mobile.

Harry's been oddly subdued since his declaration, and Draco isn't sure what to say, if anything at all. He takes another moment to admire the way Harry's fingers race across the keyboard with a smile and then decides to let him be, escaping to the kitchen to devour the last chocolate bar from the empty refrigerator.

His stomach quickly protests, reminding him he hasn't eaten much today, and both his natural and unnatural appetites are deeply unsatisfied. He ignores it, deciding to brood instead, and chomps on the delectably dark, sweet treat, stomach be damned. He expected that Harry would retreat to his place in Hampstead to give them both time to mull over the day's events in private, but he ambled up the stairs and through the door alongside Draco, and it seems he has no intention of leaving.

Draco dithers in the hallway for a bit, debating whether he should try to talk to Harry and address the elephant in the room, but the coward in him decides it would be better to escape. He slinks off to the bathroom, feeling more than a little self-conscious. Should he have said something instead of gaping at Harry like a bloody idiot on Seamus' front step? What could he have said? What possible future can they have, once this is over?

He's unemployable, and though he has no financial concerns about that—there's enough money in the Malfoy vaults to last them at least a dozen more generations—a Draco without something to do is a dangerous one. One who lashes out at his friends and anyone who tries to help him.

There's also the _unnatural_ aspect of the whole conundrum to consider. He suspects that most vampires find a coven to live with. Perhaps this will be expected of him, too. Jules has already offered, and maybe it will be a good thing to become used to this new existence surrounded by people who can relate. Still, most of them aren't _exactly_ like him—as far as he can tell, he and Theo are the only vampires with magical blood, at least in Europe anyway.

It's been almost half a decade since he's seen Theo. He fell out of their social group once his father had begun to tighten the reins, insisting that Theo get married, provide an heir, and all the rot Lucius had been trying as well. But Theo had always been the more rebellious between them, and the last Draco had heard was that Theo had found himself caught up with the wrong sort. Either way, Theo had slowly eased himself out of their lives, and Draco had been too caught up in his own problems to notice.

In the bathroom, Draco takes out his wand to try to fix the mess he made during his ‘I'm-an-unemployed-vampire' breakdown, but when he waves his wand the magic flares and stutters and nothing happens. His panic is immediate and swift, and he tries to cast a _Lumos_ , _Wingardium Leviosa_ — _anything_ , but nothing works. He stands there, staring uselessly at his wand until Harry's voice sounds behind him from the doorway.

"Try it without the wand."

Draco doesn't jump; he had heard Harry's soft footsteps coming toward him the moment Harry left the living room. He gently sets down his wand, lifts his palm, then Transfigures a towel into a makeshift shower door. He sighs when it's over, relieved. The shower door isn't perfect; in fact, it's a hideous, muddy-brown colour, and it looks a lot more bendable than it should be, but at least his magic is there, whole and powerful.

He finally looks at Harry who smiles tiredly at him. "Something to do with your magical signature," he says softly. "I'm sure Hermione will explain it much better than I can."

Draco slants Harry a hesitant look. He really doesn't want to argue about this _now,_ not with all the calamity already brewing between them, but Harry will eventually learn that Theo is Jules' mate anyway. Might as well get it over with now. 

"Theo Nott might have some ideas about it."

Harry raises his eyebrows, though oddly, he doesn't really look surprised, more like Draco's only confirming something Harry had figured out on his own. "I thought that he might be the ‘leader' Jules was referring to."

"Yeah…." Draco trails off into an awkward silence, wishing he could jump into Harry's head the way he can jump into Jules'. Anything that happened between Draco and Theo was years ago, but they were young at the time, and useless at keeping secrets. The whole school probably knew what they were up to. 

Harry catches the look on Draco's face, and he rolls his eyes. "I know you were fuck buddies, Draco," he says. "I'm not going to punch him in a jealous rage." Harry's expression is torn between irritation and amusement.

"Why would I ever think that?" Draco deadpans. "Especially after what happened with Jules…."

Harry laughs.. "That was different." He rubs his lower lip in an absent gesture, making it red and flushed, and all Draco can think about is getting him out of that bloody sexy leather. Maybe he could Transfigure some of it into a belt. Or a whip. Harry's skin would flush so prettily beneath him. He'd make those same soft, breathy sounds he made in the dream, and he'd probably go lax just the way he did when Draco had wrapped his fingers around Harry's throat.

"… do you mind?"

"What was that?"

Harry frowns and gives him a measuring look. His hair falls into his face and he brushes it away absently. How is it possible for his hair to still look so soft and supple? It's almost two in the morning, for Merlin's sake. 

"I was asking if you'd mind if I take a shower?" He steps closer to Draco, but Draco steps resolutely away and Harry's eyes grow even wider with concern. "In the guest bath?"

Draco rouses himself. "Oh! Use this one! I'll go…." Draco points out of the doorway vaguely.

"Draco, are you okay?"

"What? No. I'm fine." He's doing that thing where he rambles when he's embarrassed, and he can't quite seem to make himself shut up. "I'll leave you to it. There are extra towels in the linen closet if you need them. Skin potions under the sink. I broke all the others. Sorry about that."

Draco turns and flees, heading to the guest bath and then closing the door behind him with a thud. Where the fuck had all that come from? Yes… he's into his fair share of kink, and he's always leaned toward the dominant side of things where that's concerned, but _whipping_ Harry with a bit of Transfigured leather trousers seems—

Actually, pre-vampire Draco would have absolutely been into that as well.

Just imagining it makes his dick hard, and he absently palms himself as he strips off and steps into the shower. He turns the water as cold as he can make it, bracing himself with his palms and letting the water cool his scalp and shoulders.

Harry might be in love with the Draco that he knew, but this new Draco is a possessive, blood-thirsty bastard, and Harry has no fucking idea what he's in for. All he can think about is owning Harry's arse and pounding him so soundly that he'll never once think of fucking anyone else ever again. He wants to _mark_ Harry's whole body with his come like some kind of fucked up territorial beast. He closes his eyes, imagining it, painstakingly _visualising_ himself stroking his cock and painting the length of Harry's body in strips of white. He's horrified and curious and desperate and so very turned on all at once.

Draco groans as the fantasy morphs into spreading Harry's thighs and jacking him soundly, refusing to let him come until he's in tears, desperate and begging for it. The storm of sheer _possessiveness_ that thunders inside him makes him weak, and his canines descend as he groans and gives in to stroking his dick, just for a little while.

He takes much longer than usual cleaning himself and trying to quell his thoughts, washing his hair while trying not to imagine Harry in his bath doing the same, or stroking his dick, or his arse cheeks, or slipping his hand between them as he soaps himself up. Excluding some choice moments in his teen years, he's not sure he's ever been so goddamned needy and desperate to own Harry's arse. It doesn't seem natural.

He turns off the faucet and steps out of the bath, and gazes at himself in the mirror. His canines are still descended, and this time, he can't seem to get them to retract again. Not while he's thinking about Harry's dick at any rate.

He groans. Merlin, this is the humiliating kind of shit that could send him into therapy. He needs advice from someone like him, but Jules is the only vampire he can trust, and Draco isn't sure how to contact him again. Does he simply think of Jules in his mind and drop his shields, or does he have to say his name to get his attention? And then, if he does, how will he know that Jules can hear him?

_En fait, c'est un peu des deux._

Draco almost slips over the tile and breaks his arse, but he holds on to the edge of the sink to steady himself instead.

"Fucking hell," he says out loud, and then, to Jules: _Tu as failli me tuer!_

_Unlikely._

Draco looks at his reflection in the small gold-leaf mirror to ground himself. It's so strange, having Jules in his head, but still, it's a warm type of comfort. He grabs a towel from the rack and begins to dry himself off.

 _Draco, it's after two in the morning._ He seems to disappear for a moment, then returns. _Il vaudrait mieux te dépêcher._ _Theo's in a strop._

_Tell him he can go fuck himself._

When Jules comes back, the feel of him is playful and teasing. _He sends similar regards. Say… you and him weren't lovers, were you?_

He can _feel_ that Jules doesn't need an answer to this, that he knows exactly what Draco and Theo were or weren't over the course of their lives. While Theo had been Draco's first… everything, Draco would never ascribe the word _lover_ to their relationship. And neither would Theo, for that matter

 _What's it like with him?_ The thought sails away from him before he's fully completed it as he studies his reflection and wandlessly casts a spell to dry his hair.

_Erm…._

Draco's face flushes a deep red. _I mean. What's it like with a mate? Are things… more intense?_

There's a period of silence, and then Jules answers him haltingly. _Nettement plus intense._ Jules stops, and Draco can feel the wheels turning in his head. _It's different with wizards, I think. Not that I've ever been mated with anyone else, but Theo is… an experience. We're both ruined for anyone else, so don't get any ideas._

An image of Harry tied to the headboard, arse up, spread and waiting comes to mind, and Draco can admit to himself that he's ruined too.

And he hasn't even fucked Harry yet. He sighs.

 _So… are you_ trying _to turn me on, or…?_

Had he sent that image to Jules somehow? Mortified, Draco casts about for an appropriate response. _I didn't mean to share that._

_It's not that I'm complaining…._

_Go away now, please…._

The silence stretches for too long, and Draco clutches the edge of the sink, staring furiously at his own reflection. It's all so very bizarre.

_I swear if you tell him I showed you that…._

_Calme-toi._ _Had to explain to my mate why I suddenly popped wood._

_Oh fucking Merlin…._

_I told him he wasn't allowed to kill you._

Draco whimpers and he opens his linen closet, searching for something to wear. It's bad enough he's sending brain porn to another vampire; worse that he's doing it while hard and completely fucking naked in his bathroom.

Staring at himself in the bloody mirror.

_Draco. It's all right. Theo is… the same._

Draco stills, clutching a pair of old training joggers to his chest. _The same…?_

 _The whole dominant, but needy thing._ Jules pauses. _I… erm, I actually really like it._

Draco covers his face with his jogger-filled palms, even though Jules can't see him. _Is there any part of this that's not completely humiliating?_

_You are just as dramatic as Theo, ma parole. Sodding boarding schools._

Draco pulls on his joggers and ties the drawstring. _What does Hogwarts have to do with this?_

 _Rien du tout. Écoute._ _Don't lose your mind. Maybe it's a wizard thing. You lot do tend to have that bullish alpha mentality trait._

_Is that your way of calling us arseholes?_

_Maybe. But that alpha mind, combined with the bond between you…._ Jules pauses, seemingly lost in his own memories. _Let's just say, the longer you wait to fuck him, the worse it'll get. Harry is your mate, and your body is desperate to claim him. He's a bloody wizard, too…._ Jules abruptly goes silent.

_What?!_

_I was wondering if you'd let us watch one day, but Theo just gave me a death glare, so no._

_For once we agree on something._

_Your mate is a wizard. You're a wizard. This is uncharted territory. I'm sorry I can't give you more advice. Except that you should definitely fuck him. Aussi vite que possible._

Draco looks down at his dick as it heartily rises in approval of this plan.

 _But I'll tell you this. If you feed from him, the bond will be irrevocable._ Jules' thoughts turn serious, almost heavy with their weight. _Vampires mate for life. If he leaves you, there won't be anyone else who can take his place. Ce sera comme… losing part of your soul._

Draco looks his reflection in the eye and tries to gain control of his body again, breathing a sigh when his canines finally retract.

_It's already like that. At least, it is for me._

_Then go get your dick on, you pillock! You won't hurt him. Your body wouldn't allow it._ He pauses. _And I suspect he needs you as much as you need him._

Draco wants to listen; he wants to finally give in to this, but even as his hand hovers over the doorknob, he still hesitates. _Jules. How do I know…._ He stops, so he can unravel his thoughts and send a clear message. _What if what he feels is because of the bond?_

 _C'est impossible._ _It's not how the bond works. It's doesn't spring from thin air._

Draco releases a breath, and lets his hand touch the doorknob.

_For a bond to form between you—for it to be so quick and steadfast, it's built on something already laid in foundation. He has a choice, Draco, and if he chooses to be with you, then that's what he wants._

Draco closes his eyes. _I love him. Desperately. I don't want to… mess this up._

_You should probably tell him._

Draco nods, opening the door and steeling himself. _Harry will call you tomorrow with a plan. He won't want to wait, and neither do I. You and Theo should both be prepared._

_Nous le sommes._

Draco lifts his shields, locks them tight, makes a quiet tread down the hallway, then slips into his bedroom. He can _feel_ Harry still lingering, thinking entirely too much, and his scent is confused and tired and turned on all at once. Draco stops, feeling the bond turn inside him, settling, _pleased_ that his mate is so close, and _home_ and _safe._

He finds Harry in the bathroom, a towel tied loosely around his hips, waving his wand over broken bits of brick and cement, trying to fuse them together.

Draco leans against the doorframe, admiring the curve of Harry's arse, the dimples above, and the still-damp glistening skin that just _looks_ as if it tastes like sin. It's one of the rare moments when the massive stag and doe tattoo on his back is uncovered, and Draco admires that, too. The stag stands proudly at the centre, but the doe, though she stands to his left, looks on as his protector as they both trod over a field of lilies. The delicate black-ink artwork spreads across the expanse of Harry's upper back, and the firm muscle packed tightly beneath lends only a glimpse of the power that lies there.

The flames that trail the length of his bicep beneath the black serpent twirling sinuously over the curve of Harry's muscle is a more recent addition to his skin, one that showed up not long before Harry left the Department. Draco has never asked what it was about or who it was for, but he knows. 

He remembers the night he and Harry sat in front of the flames after their first time in the field. He remembers what had happened, how they shared their secrets. How Harry had looked at him then. 

He has always _known_. 

But he's spent so much time in fear of losing Harry, afraid that one day Harry will finally see the truth: everything Draco has done since the war is only an attempt to patch over what makes him unworthy of the forgiveness he's been granted. Every achievement, every arrest, every commendation—they are layers he wraps around himself like a mummy. And he knows—he _fears_ —that one day everything will unravel, and Harry will see the _thing_ that lies beneath. That there are parts of him that are still afraid of Muggles, parts of him that still condescend to others, parts of him that still love his father and desperately seek his approval. 

These are the secrets he keeps—secrets he will forever keep—and he doesn't know if Harry can love him in spite of them. Though life has taught him that family and friendships are temporary, he still hopes—he aches with hoping—that Harry will stay.

"Exactly how long do you plan on staring at my arse?" Harry asks without turning around.

Draco smiles as some of the tension leaves his body and he rolls his eyes at himself. His mother has always called him a melancholic brooder. It's only Harry, after all, and Harry has told him he loves him.

Draco pushes himself off the doorframe. "As long as I possibly can."

"Hmm." Harry jumps back as one of the racks defiantly wedges itself out of the spell Harry's tried to weave over it. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

Draco's mouth twitches. "I can fix that myself you know." 

Harry catches his eye in the large gilded mirror above the sink as he scowls. "Can't I just do something for you without you complaining about it?" He looks away and then kicks at the towel rack on the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm just… tired."

"Of course you are." Draco steps into the bathroom, but he keeps his distance. He can't properly read Harry's mood, and he doesn't want to fuck up the moment. "It's very late. Early, in fact."

Harry shrugs, then turns back to his spellwork. "I didn't mean that kind of tired."

The silence stretches between them, and Draco wants more than anything to reach into Harry's mind and reassure him that his love is not wasted, though it may very well be entirely undeserved. Instead, he takes another step forward and says, "You can't take it back, you know."

At that, Harry finally turns towards him properly, and Draco gaze is transfixed by the heavy muscle lying beneath the planes of his chest, the enviously defined abs, the prominent lines of his hip bones, cut so deep that they almost cast a shadow. Harry is one of those unfairly good-looking men who seem entirely unaware of their power to level the average bloke with a single glance.

"I don't want to take it back."

"Good. Because I'm keeping it." Draco steps closer into Harry's space. "It's mine now."

Harry sets his wand down and meets Draco where he stands. His glasses are slightly fogged, with a few water droplets clinging to the frames, and Draco smiles because it means that Harry showers with them on and he'd always wondered if that were true. He grazes his fingers along the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the crisp, white towel, and Harry closes his eyes. "I used to wish I didn't want you so much." 

Draco trails a line up to Harry's collarbone, and Harry trembles beneath his touch. "That's a terrible thing to say. I love the way you want me." He clutches the towel at Harry's waist. "Can I kiss you?"

Harry swallows, removes his glasses and sets them beside Draco's toothpaste, then he nods shakily. "Hmm. _Yes…._ "

Draco slides his fingers through Harry's damp hair. It's silky-soft between his fingers and smells sweetly of his cleansing potion. He tugs Harry forward, and the animalistic bastard inside his chest groans in relief when their lips finally crash together, and the heat between them rises and swells.

Harry moans into Draco's mouth and shifts closer, reaching between them to loosen the towel around his hips until it falls to the tiles with a soft _whuff._ His hardening cock nudges Draco's thigh, leaving a trail of precome against the fabric of Draco's joggers, and he reaches between them to thumb the head. Harry whimpers deliciously, dropping his forehead to Draco's shoulder, and the bond pulses beneath Draco's skin, delighted at finally being able to anchor itself.

With a low grunt, Draco lifts Harry off the ground and easily deposits him on the edge of the bathroom sink, and they both stare at each other, breathing heavily.

Harry tucks Draco's hair behind his ears, and asks, "You sure about this?" His mouth is bruised and he's breathless, but he still looks as though there might be some doubt that Draco is as on board with this as he is.

"I am absolutely sure," Draco says, bobbing his head.

Harry laughs and then his mouth is on Draco again, his tongue lazily exploring Draco's mouth, his fingers embedded possessively into Draco's hair. He moans softly and shifts even closer, closing the space between them, his hard dick trapped against Draco's abs, his strong thighs holding Draco firmly in place.

Draco rubs both palms up the length of Harry's thighs, grazing the soft, downy hairs as Harry slips his hands inside Draco's joggers and roughly kneads Draco's arse. A surge of possessive arousal surges through him and he pulls away as the shape of his mouth begins to shift. Harry's scent fills his nostrils, rich and earthy and so goddamned sexy that he wants, no _needs_ , to taste it.

Harry cups his face as Draco tries to catch his breath and maybe get his teeth to bloody behave.

"When you're like this, your eyes…." Harry's shakes his head and traces Draco's sharp eyebrow. "Gorgeous. Like silver." Harry's breaths are short, his arousal pungent. "Don't try to stop this, Draco. I want all of it. Every part of you."

Draco closes his eyes and mirrors Harry's earlier move, dropping his forehead onto Harry's shoulder, not wanting him to see, but Harry is having none of it.

Harry tightens his hold and lifts Draco's chin. "Show me."

Draco opens his mouth slightly as his canines further descend, and he's alarmed at how easily he can will it so. How much control he is beginning to gain over this new aspect of his body. Harry seeks his gaze, but Draco doesn't want to give it, and in a grossly underhanded move, Harry slips his hand beneath Draco's waistband, wraps his fingers around Draco's cock, and squeezes. The noise that Draco makes is frankly quite embarrassing.

"Look at me."

Draco does, and he's relieved to find there's nothing fearful in Harry's gaze. No lines of disgust around his eyes. They're as bright and green and open as they've ever been, and with a mischievous grin, he pushes Draco's joggers out of the way and teases a pearl of precome from Draco's slit and uses it to glide his palm over half the length of Draco's dick. Draco moans breathily as Harry strokes him without mercy, trailing kisses along Draco's jaw, his ear, his mouth… sharp canines and all.

The room grows thick with the smell of his own arousal, and Draco makes another mortifying sound as his hips jerk against his will. He grabs Harry's hand, stilling him before he comes too soon and embarrasses them both.

Harry pulls his hand from Draco's joggers, lifts one slick finger to Draco's mouth and teases his lips open, then traces the length of one protruding canine with his finger.

"I'm not afraid of this." He delicately follows the length of Draco's tooth to its peak. The enamel is so sharp that it easily splits his skin, and a bead of blood oozes out onto Draco's lips.

It's as if every single nerve-ending in Draco's body has suddenly come alive all at once, and he snatches Harry's hand away from his mouth. He stares at him, his mouth half open in shock, unable to even think of what to say. His heart is racing so hard he's almost dizzy from it, and he looks at Harry's finger to check the damage, but as he inspects it, the tiny wound begins to heal.

Harry smiles. "See," he says, voice deep and throaty, echoing in the small bathroom. "You literally can't hurt me."

Draco leans in on instinct and licks the blood off Harry's finger. It's such a small amount that Draco immediately labels it as the world's most terrible tease. All it does is throw open the floodgates to the unholy concoction of his thirst and lust. Draco absently noses the soft, heated skin above Harry's collarbone, wanting desperately to sink his teeth in.

"You are so fucking dangerous," he murmurs against Harry's skin. His teeth graze Harry's pulse point and Harry shudders, but Draco only kisses him instead, because a tease can work both ways, and he knows what Harry wants.

Harry groans in frustration and pushes Draco backwards as he slips off the countertop.

"I'm going to suck your cock now." Harry sinks to his knees and yanks down Draco's joggers all the way down to his ankles.

Harry grips the base of Draco's cock, his eyes darkened with lust, and gently mouths the head as Draco hisses, threading his fingers through Harry's thick hair and making a fist at the roots.

Harry licks the underside of his cock like a treat and murmurs, "Fuck, you're _thick,_ " before he wraps his lips around the head and proceeds to take as much as he can down the length of his throat

" _Bloody hell…._ " Draco's voice is frail and reedy, and he clutches Harry's hair even tighter as Harry begins the sloppy-slick slide and bob of his head. Draco looks up at their reflections in the gilded mirror, at the stag and doe rippling on Harry's back. The fire on Harry's bicep comes alive, with its flames licking a path along his skin and curling over the swell of his delts with every bob of his head.

Draco's mouth is half-open in awe, his canines descended to fine, sharp points. His lips are a deep red and flushed, his long hair wild. It's almost like a dream, and he's watching someone else with his face and his body having his cock expertly worked by the man who saved the fucking world. He closes his eyes and focuses on not coming before he even has a chance to get his cock inside Harry's arse because doing _that_ is an absolutely necessity.

He groans, both from thinking about opening up Harry's little arsehole with his cock, and the way Harry is expertly working Draco's entire length down his throat. The wet slide of Harry's mouth only makes his fantasies of burying his cock deep inside Harry's pert little arse more vivid, more _real,_ and there's a whisper of a thrill along the edges of his consciousness as the bond reaches out between them. Harry suddenly pulls away, his eyes wide with shock, and breathes a low, desperate moan.

Draco looks down at him, both frustrated and concerned, but Harry doesn't get back to work, he only sits there looking up at him, panting heavily, his perfect mouth bruised, green eyes hazy with both pleasure and surprise.

"Why did you stop?!"

Harry rocks back on his heels and gives him a _look._ "You don't know what you just did?"

Draco shakes his head, utterly confused and more than a little miffed. Harry releases another short, startled moan even as he rises and clutches on to Draco for support and when he's mostly upright, he takes Draco's hand and guides it to his hole.

It's stretched and slick, and Draco completely loses his mind, blindly slipping one finger inside as Harry clutches his biceps and moans. The bond tumbles happily around inside his mind, pleased at being able to ready his mate, eager to make its claim known. Draco fucks him open with his fingers, easily slipping another finger alongside the first as Harry rests his forehead against Draco's, panting softly against his lips as he moans, "Oh _fuck…._ "

Harry's voice is almost broken, and Draco lifts him off the ground again, loving the way he immediately wraps his thighs around his waist. He drapes his arms around Draco's shoulders, his thighs clutching him tight, and when Draco slips another finger inside him, Harry's body vibrates with his desperation. He mouths the shell of Draco's ear, something that's always guaranteed to make Draco weak in the knees… all in all, not the best thing to do while holding a fully grown man.

"Take me to bed. Fuck me out of my mind, Draco, I need it now."

Draco Vanishes his joggers so he can walk them both to the bedroom without landing on his face, and by the time they reach the bed, Draco's chest is slick with Harry's precome.

Draco deposits Harry on the mattress, and he immediately crawls forward on his hands and knees. Draco desperately wishes that he'd made that leather whip fantasy come true as he watches Harry's delectable arsecheeks flex as he moves. 

Harry stops at the centre of the bed, his rounded arse high in the air, the muscles in his shoulders supple and taut as he arches his back and Draco yanks one of Harry's thighs, pulling him back to the edge. He grabs one firm arse cheek and gives in to the urge to give it a hard slap. Harry's skin immediately flames red, just as Draco thought it would. He smiles and does it again, and Harry releases a breathy gasp and clutches the bed sheets.

"Draco, _Jesus._ "

"Hmm?" Draco does it again, and Harry practically whimpers as he presses his face into the sheets. Draco pushes him roughly forward and finally follows him to centre of the large four-poster bed on his knees, his hard cock bobbing as he crawls on the uneven surface. He presses a palm into Harry's shoulder blades, pressing his face into the mattress again. Harry easily complies and spreads his thighs, putting himself on display.

Draco slaps his arse again—he's quickly becoming obsessed with the filthy sound it makes—and grabs on to the swell of flesh, feeling an almost animalistic surge of ownership. He could simply jerk himself off and paint Harry's arse and that would be enough to satisfy his urge to claim, to mark his territory with a stamp: _This belongs to Draco Malfoy._ But Harry's been so patient and good and so desperate for his dick, his tight slick hole pulsing needily as he pants into the sheets, and a bigger part of Draco wants to leave his mate absolutely satisfied.

Harry's hole is shiny and slick and stretched, and Draco can't help but finger him some more, groaning in sympathy when Harry shudders beneath him. He leans forward and spreads Harry's arse cheeks wide before he buries his face in between, breathing in deep before trailing over the soft skin there with his tongue. Harry cries out into the bedsheets, fisting the coverlet in his hands, and Draco tongues Harry's fluttering rim mercilessly as Harry shudders beneath him, vibrating the mattress. Draco's cock aches to slip inside, but the sounds rolling out of Harry's mouth make him want to keep tonguing and teasing Harry's arse until he comes instead.

"Please…."

Harry's voice is muffled and ruined and a dribble of precome leaks from Draco's cock like a call and response to Harry's need.

Draco pulls away, and buries his thumb inside Harry, fucking him with it, twisting his wrist so he can slide in deep.

"Please what?"

Draco's dick twitches even as he takes it in hand to tease Harry's hole with the head.

" _Fuck me._ "

Draco eases the head of his cock into Harry's arsehole with shallow thrusts as Harry groans beneath him and arches his back so much that his shoulders press into the mattress, his perfect, tight arse still tantalisingly perched.

"You're still so fucking tight, what…." He has no idea what he's saying as he spreads Harry's arsecheeks and slowly feeds his cock inside. He works it back, then deeper inside again. It takes everything in him not to begin a brutal pace, but the tension in Harry's back lets him know he has to take it slow. 

The slick inside Harry's body seems to renew and as Draco eases in again slowly, it squelches around his dick and he groans and trails his index finger along Harry's slippery rim.

"Fuck, Draco…." Harry's moans are muffled and faint as his arsehole stretches around Draco's cock until he bottoms out. Harry grabs on to his wrist, a silent warning to keep himself in check. Draco stills, though it almost fucking kills him.

Everything about Harry's body—the glistening muscles of his back, the pert swell of his arse, his mussed, already fucked-out hair, the sheer _heat_ of his skin—makes Draco want to rut like an animal and batter Harry's arse until he can't think. The other half of him also needs to protect his mate and make sure he isn't hurt. These two sides wage a silent war as he waits for Harry's body to get used to his dick. 

Draco rocks his hips experimentally, and the needy moan Harry gives him in response urges him to he pick up the pace. He palms the length of Harry's sweat-slick spine and takes a deep breath as his canines descend, then he can no longer wait. He can't help himself. He builds up a brutal pace, fucking deep into Harry's arse, mesmerised by the bouncing mounds of flesh as Harry scrambles for purchase and clutches the edge of the mattress. Draco's brutal thrusts push him forward until he has to cling to the bedpost, and when he does, Harry pushes back into Draco's thrusts, and there, Draco finds his rhythm.

As his release edges closer, Draco's thighs begin to quiver, making his thrusts erratic and short, but then Harry grabs his wrist again and Draco slows, giving Harry the deep kind of strokes that make him grunt.

His thighs are giving protest, so he pulls out and lies beside Harry, roughly hitching one of Harry's thighs upward and sliding his cock back in without missing a beat. Harry's upper back presses into Draco's chest and Draco begins to thrust again, his cock sliding in deeper with each stroke, until he starts to pick up a pace and Harry's thick arsecheeks jiggle from the impact of Draco's pounding. Harry reaches behind and places a restraining hand on Draco's thigh, arching his back as he groans. "Slow, you big-dick bastard," he pants. " _Slow._ "

Draco drops the pace and mouths Harry's shoulder. The rich redolent smell of him threatens to take Draco's breath away. "Merlin, you smell so fucking good. You have no idea." He gives Harry another shallow thrust and Harry moans deeply beside him. He turns slightly in Draco's arms, and clutches Draco's arse with his hand.

"Do it." His voice is a breathy whisper. "I want you to do it."

Draco's breaths are merely heavy pants now, and he combs his hand through Harry's hair as Harry drops his head onto Draco's bicep. He lifts his chin, exposing his neck, and moans again when Draco's cock nudges his prostate.

"Spectacularly bad idea…." But then Draco can't even think to form full sentences because Harry starts to do this _thing_ where he bounces on Draco's cock and Draco loses it—all of his rational thought, any sense of fear or doubt. Nature takes over, and he clutches Harry's hair and sinks his teeth into Harry's neck, shivering as blood seeps through his teeth and onto his tongue and down his throat. The head-rush is almost like being catapulted off a broom in the middle of a Quidditch match and then free-falling five hundred metres to the ground. Harry's blood is sweet, a thick rush of liquid life, and Draco finally understands why no one can live without it.

He's only distantly aware that Harry fucking _screams_ beneath him, and that his arse is spasming around Draco's cock as he comes, but Draco can't stop the thrust of his hips, can't offer Harry's arse any mercy. His cock sinks in deep and he bottoms out, and though Draco hasn't come yet, it feels as if his body is hanging over the cusp of a blackout orgasm that will wreck him.

The flow of Harry's blood slows to the barest trickle and Draco pulls away, frustrated. When his fangs disengage, the blood flows out in a rush, staining Harry's neck, spilling over Draco's fingers and onto the pillow beneath. Draco drops his mouth again to suckle as much as he can as his free hand restlessly roams the expanse of Harry's chest.

"Draco… Draco. Fuck." Harry's body is a constant source of vibration and heat. Draco tweaks a nipple and Harry cries out. When he reaches for Harry's dick he finds it already slick with come, but Harry's hips jerk and it pulses, spurting more over Draco's fingers, mixing with the blood on his palm.

"Oh, fucking hell." Draco licks the length of Harry's neck clean, gently nosing his jaw in silent question, but it's as if Harry hears him anyway.

_I'm all right._

Still famished, Draco sinks his teeth in again, and this time he sucks hard, not letting any of it go to waste. This time he _feels_ Harry's orgasm like a shadow in his mind, as Harry's arse clenches around Draco's dick like a vise as he comes all over again. Unable to help himself, Draco begins to thrust again as he drinks, until Harry clutches at his arm and he's compelled to stop. He pulls away, slightly frustrated, knowing that his need to feed has not been fully satisfied. Still, if he feeds any longer, he will hurt Harry, and his body seems to have a built-in defence against that.

Draco drops his head against Harry's shoulder as he ruts behind him, entering his body with a desperation that almost frightens him. Harry holds his knee up as Draco's fingers dig into Harry's hips. Harry moans so loudly beneath him that Draco spares a grateful thought that his neighbours are far enough away to not hear them going at it. His thighs begin that tell-tale shudder as his orgasm seems to finally reach its peak. Draco loses control of his thrusts, licks a drop of stray blood off the nape of Harry's neck, and comes, groaning as his cock spurts deep inside Harry's arse, and it seems to go on for minutes.

When Draco can breathe again, Harry shifts beneath him, his head still pillowed on Draco's bicep. Draco carefully licks the puncture wounds on his neck clean until they shrink, then disappear. When he can finally speak, he says, "Are you okay?" and Harry nods shakily.

"Came three times, though," he says, still panting. "Probably not normal."

Draco's cock is still inside Harry's arse and he rolls his hips, making Harry shudder and arch his back.

"Jesus, are you still hard?"

Draco drops his forehead onto Harry's shoulder, breathing in deeply the scent of blood that remains, though he's licked Harry clean.

"I'm sorry," Draco murmurs. "I need to stay inside you, I—" But his own groan leaves him breathless, and he begins to thrust again, sliding easily in and out of Harry's loosened hole, still slick with so much spunk that it oozes onto the sheets.

_I need—_

_It's all right, don't stop._

Draco rolls Harry onto his stomach and Harry's pushes himself up into his palms and arches his back just as Draco begins to fuck him again in earnest. He rolls his hips in long, deep strokes that seem to wrench out a groan from Harry with each thrust as Draco's cock grazes Harry's prostate.

Draco spreads Harry's cheeks so he can watch himself make a creamy mess of his hole, just as Harry begins to roll his hips and really work the fuck out of Draco's cock. Experimentally, Draco slips in a finger alongside his cock, and Harry makes a low, breathy sound before he awkwardly turns and swats Draco's hand away.

"Absolutely not."

He drops down to his shoulders and rolls his hips, slowly bouncing on Draco's cock again. Draco closes his eyes and remains still as Harry slowly and expertly pulls another orgasm from deep within his balls. This time, it seems to take the wind out of his body, and Draco carefully arranges them so that his cock stays buried inside. He blindly reaches around to take Harry's cock in hand, and Harry grunts in protest _Too sensitive,_ but Draco just keeps his hand over Harry's softening dick in a protective cup, as he settles in beside him, hips nestled snugly against Harry's arse, his cock still hard and buried deep inside Harry's body.

_Are you sure you're all right?_

_Go to sleep, Draco._

The last thing Draco registers before slipping into unconsciousness, is the almost exhausted twitch of his dick as it softens and slips out of Harry's arse, even as his body seems to lament the loss.

When Draco wakes in the morning, Harry is far away from him, curled into himself on the other side of the bed, his breathing quiet and deep. Draco scoots closer to him to gently trace his fingers along the curve of his spine, but Harry doesn't stir, and his skin is too pale. There are bruises on his hips and though the puncture wounds on his neck are gone, the skin is flecked with dried blood and there are blood stains on the pillow beneath his head.

Draco casts a Cleaning Charm on them both, and stares down at Harry as his stomach churns with worry. For all of Draco's life, Harry's always been such a _force_ to reckon with that sometimes he forgets that he's only human. Sometimes, they all do.

"Look what I've done to you…." Draco pushes Harry's hair off his head, not at all liking how unresponsive he is, and the first bloom of real panic begins to seize his breaths. He pulls on his joggers, intending to head into his pantry for a vial of Blood-Replenishing Potion, but then he comes up short when he rounds the corner and enters the kitchen to see Vyken, gun in hand, casually standing in front of his open the refrigerator. 

Vyken sniffs the contents of Draco's suppressant potion with an expression of horror on his face, but then he looks up. Without pause, he smiles at Draco as if he had always been aware of his presence. He gestures with his gun. "This is really terrible for you," he says. "I knew a wizard who used something that smelled like this."

He closes the fridge and steps around the island, pointing his gun at Draco's head before he pulls out a stool and gestures for Draco to sit. "It made him ill," he continues. "Long term use is inadvisable."

Draco swallows, praying to all of the gods that Harry doesn't stir and wander in. If he were alone, he could handle this situation without the shrieking hum of his mindless panic, but his protective instincts are turning his brain to mush. All he can think of is how to keep himself between Harry and Vyken at all costs.

"How…?"

Vyken absently gestures to the oversized kitchen window. "It was unlocked." Vyken smiles. "And I'm very agile." He frowns at Draco, as if just noticing he hasn't taken a seat, then he gestures with his gun again. "Sit down."

Draco consider the chances of Vyken firing the trigger at his head before a Summoning Charm can wrench it from his hands. Vyken smiles as if reading his mind. "You're one of us now, you must know how quickly I can move when I want. It won't work." Vyken waves him over again, like a friend herding guests into his home. "Besides, I have much to tell you."

Draco sits and Vyken presses the barrel of the gun right at the centre of his forehead, giving a low laugh when Draco closes his eyes.

"You want to know _all_ the hows, I suppose," he says. "Open your eyes now, Draco, that's right. I followed that traitor, Jules, when he took you to that _very_ handsome wizard's home." Vyken smiles. "Then that very handsome wizard led me to _your_ home." Vyken pulls a stool and sits diagonally across from him without moving the barrel of the gun from Draco's head. "It's strange. I was always certain that wizards have smarter ways to travel than knocking on each other's doors." He tilts his head and smiles. "You think so much like them, protecting yourself against everything except a tracking device and a little B&E."

Draco breathes deeply to calm himself, then opens his eyes. "What do you want?"

"There's a spell to keep the _other_ handsome man in your bedroom from hearing any of this." Vyken lowers his gun and leans back into his chair, nodding in the direction of the bedroom. "Cast it." Draco doesn't move, and Vyken points his gun in the direction of the bedroom. "Before I blow his beautiful brains out." His amber eyes glint in the morning sunlight, and he leans forward, waving the gun beneath Draco's nose. "Do you think you'll be faster than I am? When last have you fed, and how much?"

Draco casts the spell without breaking eye contact, and Vyken fires the gun. A deafening bang echoes around them, but Harry doesn't show, and Vyken nods. "Good." He set the gun down and quietly studies Draco for a moment before an expression of genuine remorse flashes across his face. "I'm sorry for what Jules did to you," he says. "Truly, I am." Vyken hesitates. "I think it must be very complicated for a wizard to become a vampire. Particularly an Auror."

Draco clenches his jaw and tries to keep his expression blank.

"You're not anymore though, are you?" Vyken nods as if something in Draco's face is enough of an affirmative. "Again, they've abandoned you."

He rests his hand over Draco's and squeezes gently. "You're one of us now. Are you going to live the rest of your life among people who would shun you again and again?"

Draco snatches his hand away with a snarl, but Vyken pays no attention. "You'll live a much longer life, longer even than your mate." Draco looks up at that, unable to hide the protective surge that arises upon the casual mention of Harry.

Vyken nods. "Oh yes, I know about that. I can smell the bond on you… and the fucking." Vyken pulls his stool closer and Draco remains very still as Vyken brushes a lock of hair behind Draco's ear then cups his chin. "It doesn't matter. Come home, Draco. Mates can be chosen."

Draco knocks Vyken's hand away, and in the quickest handwork Draco's ever seen, Vyken picks up the gun again, passes it to his dominant hand, and presses the barrel against Draco's forehead again. It all happens in less than a second, and Draco's left panting for breath.

He lifts his chin. "You almost killed me. Why would I ever consider it?"

Vyken's amber eyes go wide with what looks like genuine remorse. "That was a mistake," he says quietly. "I shot you, and all the blood… your magic… I couldn't help myself." He uses his free hand to stroke Draco's hair, and lets his fingers drop to Draco's neck. Draco has to clench his jaw to keep from flinching. "I bled you without thinking, and I left you there." Vyken's gaze drops to Draco's mouth. "I thought I killed you." 

"I'll never come back to you, Vyken," Draco says. "You must know that." 

Vyken seems to pull his thoughts back in to focus, and gives Draco a brief, tight smile. "In our time together, you might have noticed something very important about me." Vyken absently fingers the trigger of the gun, and Draco swallows, thinking of Harry and what will happen if he finds Draco's body out here on his own. "I have an all or nothing type personality."

"If I can't have him, no one will?"

Vyken laughs, but it is thin and hollow. "If I don't lead my family, no one will." Vyken presses the gun into Draco's head again. "If you bring your friends into my home, you'll be killing them all."

"If you decide to kill them, that's your doing. Not mine."

Vyken's expression flickers with doubt, and he licks his lips. "I know the—other wizard has told you about the portals," he says, his voice high with tension. "Think carefully before you do anything. You've barely fed, you're young and you're weak because your human cannot satisfy you." Vyken cocks the gun. "No matter how good he is in bed." 

With a low snarl, Draco swats the barrel away and lunges at Vyken, teeth bared. The gun goes off right at Draco's ear with a deafening bang, and a stray bullet sends rubble flying in all directions.

Draco leaps across the island, swings his legs forward and kicking Vyken hard in the stomach. Vyken flies backwards into the dining set and loses hold of his gun, but he picks himself up with inhuman speed and dodges across the room to retrieve it. He's already aiming to fire another shot before Draco can even finds his footing again, and Draco dives to the ground, taking cover behind an overturned chair.

Vyken doesn't fire at him. Instead he heads in the direction of the bedroom, to _Harry,_ and with a guttural roar, Draco picks himself up and dives over the chairs and table to tackle Vyken across the middle in a flying leap. The gun fires again, sending a stray bullet in the direction of the bedroom, and Draco can only pray it never finds its way. He and Vyken land hard on the hardwood floor, grappling with each other. Vyken _hisses_ at him, baring his canines, and Draco rolls them both over and straddles Vyken's chest to land a hard punch in his face as his own mouth changes, his canines descending long enough to defend himself.

Vyken bucks his hips, and it's enough to send Draco flying across the room. He lands hard, his back crashing into the kitchen island with an ominous crack as the wine rack shatters, sending bottles rolling everywhere. He picks one up and launches it at Vyken, who dodges it easily, but then Draco sends a Stunner with so much power behind it, it leaves him winded.

Vyken's stolen magic—magic that feels so much like his own—rises in a clumsy half-baked sort of defence, sizzling and deflecting the spell onto the dining set. The giant slab of wood snaps right in half under the weight of their combined magical energy and crashes to the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco spots Harry wandering into the kitchen, wearing a pair of Draco's too-long jeans and an unzipped jumper, blearily drying his hair with his wand. For half a second, they all stare at each other in confusion, then Vyken raises his gun.

Without missing a beat, Harry drops to the ground as the bullet sails over his head, slamming into the wall behind him, and raining down fragments of brick and wood. He dives in Draco's direction and lands hard beside him even as he yanks off one of his wristbands and catapults it in Vyken's direction.

It pulses and sputters purple sparks in mid-air, then with a loud _boom,_ it sends heavy waves of horrific, screeching _sound,_ apparently designed to shatter Draco's ear drums. Harry seems completely unaffected, and when he notices Draco clutching his head in pain as tears spring to his eyes, Harry curses and casts a shield around them both. The noise stops, and Draco shakes his head, trying to quell the ringing between his ears. Across the room Vyken is on his knees, lashing out blindly at the remains of Draco's dining set. 

Harry touches Draco's shoulder, concerned, but Draco gives him a thumbs up. Harry nods briskly and Summons his cloak and Hood. It sails to him with lighting speed and precision, and he rifles through the pockets. He tosses a small sachet towards Vyken, just before the charm on his bracelet seems to fizzle out. The room turns pitch black as Harry grabs Draco's hand and Apparates them both out of the flat with a heavy crack.

They land in some sort of park, in the midst of a few low bushes and giant trees. It's raining, and a cold wind whips the edges of Draco's hair. He shudders, overwhelmed by the sudden scene change. The sound of the rain against the leaves, the overpowering smell of wet grass and the bustle of vehicular traffic, pedestrian traffic, and Christmas music—it all crowds his head and he drops to the grass beneath him, more disoriented by the shock of the last half hour than anything else.

Harry casts a Muggle Repelling Charm before he drops beside him and it jolts Draco back into action. He shuffles close, frantically patting Harry down, looking for wounds or scratches or blood—anything to signify that he is hurt. Harry lets Draco touch him everywhere as he angles them both to lean against the trunk of an English oak and casts an Impervius Charm around them that immediately shuts out both the wind and rain.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." Harry holds on to Draco's wrists, stilling his frantic movements. "Draco, look at me. I'm fine."

Draco cups Harry's cheeks and it's as if Harry's gorgeous face finally comes into vivid focus after being caught in a haze of fog. His eyes are as bright and green as they always are, and there's not a scratch on him.

Draco drops his hands and looks around them properly. Though they must be in Muggle London, there's not a single person around. "Vyken was in my _fucking kitchen,_ " he says, sounding hysterical even to his own ears. "He wanted to kill you. Said he'd blow your head off!"

Harry puts his hands on Draco's shoulders. "Hey. We're okay," he says calmly. "That was a really close call, but we made it. All right? Just breathe with me."

Draco does, and as the adrenaline begins to leave him, the shame of his incompetence begins to seep in. "I was so weak against him." Draco rubs his eyes, remembering Vyken's unnatural agility and blinding speed, how easily he dodged Draco's magic—how he seemed to anticipate Draco's _every_ move. "I barely stood a chance."

"You're not weak. We were both caught off guard." Harry looks around anxiously. "But we have to get indoors now. This park is too close to your flat, but it was the only place I could think of."

Draco studies him carefully, and notices for the first time how well Harry looks compared to his grey complexion and lack of responsiveness less than an hour ago. He pokes Harry's shoulder. "How are you all right again? You were barely responding this morning!"

Harry reaches into the pockets of his robes and pulls out a vial from one of Hermione's extendable pouches. "I have at least a dozen more Blood-Replenishing Potions in there."

Draco plucks it from Harry's fingertips and turns it over in his hands as his heart sinks "You thought I'd try to kill you?"

"Erm, no," Harry says, taking it back and dropping it back into his pouch. "I just happen to be a kinky bastard with high hopes, all right? Don't judge."

Draco eyes him for a moment, utterly speechless, and then he wrenches Harry close, cups his cheek and kisses him deeply. The bond between them sings and fortifies itself after almost being shattered to smithereens only moments ago. Draco wonders if there'll ever be a time when the bond will become quiet and he can kiss his mate without the desperate urge to pound his arse.

Harry's tongue slides over Draco's as his fingers thread though his long hair, and Draco pulls away and rests his forehead on Harry's so that they won't be drawn into acts of public indecency.

Harry puts a palm on his shoulder and squeezes him reassuringly, then he casts drying and warming charms on them both before digging into his pouch again. He pulls out a thin black T-shirt, with mesh along its front—a leftover from when Harry went undercover as a dancer in a Wizarding club—and hands it to Draco, who for the first time realises that he's half naked in the middle of London. "It's the best I've got," he says. "Come on, we're close to Mayfair, maybe Hermione—"

Draco puts a hand over his mouth to shut him up, and then leans in to kiss him again. The bond wraps itself around them both, and it feels as if there's a knot tying their magic together, hovering over them both like a protective shield. When he pulls away, they're both breathless and Harry looks so adorably confused that Draco has to smile at him.

"You remember our first training mission? That abysmal raid we all failed?" Harry shuffles closer to him when he nods, studying Draco carefully as the world around them seems to fade, and there's only him and Harry's bright face looming over him.

"You mean when Robards tried to kill us?" Draco flicks his nose and Harry smiles. "I remember," he says. "You saved Ron's life that day."

"Then we all got drunk and hid in your flat so Hermione wouldn't see."

Harry smiles and Draco gently touches his mouth, the curve of his jaw, the arch of his cheekbones, trying to learn the shape of his face by touch. "You were always so damned polite, but you never once let me in."

Harry's mouth drops. "You were fucking _impenetrable._ " Harry shakes his head, gazing into Draco's eyes with an expression of wonder. "Sometimes you still are." Harry looks away as a gust of wind rustles the trees around then. It doesn't touch them beneath Harry's Impervius Charm, but it's cold all the same, and he shivers. "It always seemed like you'd bite my head off if I tried to talk to you."

"But then you did—half the night, you wouldn't shut up. I could barely get a word in." Harry lightly punches his shoulder, and Draco catches his hand, covers it with his own. "I never wanted it to end. After that—" Draco looks down at their hands, at the shadow of Harry's scar, trying to find an elegant way to say all the things he's kept buried and hidden away even from himself. "Harry, there hasn't been a single moment that I haven't loved you."

Harry goes very still, and his Impervius Shield shatters around them. The rain quickly intrudes, its icy droplets incessantly stippling their skin, but Draco can't bring himself to care. Thunder rolls above their head as he tightens his grip on Harry's hand, holding on so that Harry won't go away even if all of this is too much, and the timing is terrible and it's all very complicated and confusing as hell. "I'm sorry I made you believe I ever felt anything less."

Harry stares at him, eyes wide, seemingly barely able to breathe. "That was… over ten years ago."

"I know." Draco casts the _Impervius_ himself and the rain stops, and Harry looks skyward in a daze. "I loved you then, and I love you now.'

Harry laughs, though it's a shuddery, breathy thing. "If that's not a declaration, I don't know what is," he murmurs. "You don't do anything by halves do you?"

"I needed you to know. If anything happens—"

Harry gives him a little shake. "You're not going to die," he says, brushing a lock of Draco's hair from his face. "And neither am I."

Draco nods and after a moment of simply staring at each other, they both stand. Harry casts drying charms on them both, and Draco pulls on the thin mesh T-shirt and hitches up his joggers. Then he casts an Impervius Charm on the soles of his feet so he can walk the streets of London without catching something. When he looks up again, Harry's observing him with a devious grin.

"What?"

Harry laughs and Draco can't help but smile with him, even if he hasn't a clue what the joke is.

"This is possibly the gayest you've ever looked."

Draco tries to punch him in the arm, but Harry easily dodges it. "Also, your dick is going to poke someone's eye out."

Draco looks down and tries to adjust himself in the thin joggers, but it's useless. He sighs and looks around. "If this is Hyde Park, then I know somewhere we can go."

Harry steps aside, mouth twitching. "Lead the way, love."


	8. Chapter 8

Harry

No one seems particularly disturbed when Draco walks up to the desk at the Lanesborough looking like the dancing queen at the end of a long bender. 

The hotel is as posh as they are messy, and Harry can't help but give a nervous smile even as he self-consciously zips up his jumper. He's showing way more cleavage than he'd like, and the doormen are decked out in full suits with bowler hats on their heads. He wonders how on earth they haven't been kicked out already.

He envies, for a moment, that Draco can be so very comfortably camp when he wants. He's one of those men who can easily switch, and Harry's never had the luxury. Most guys default him into the ‘top' role, and though he likes that well enough, he fucking loves that Draco is a dominating _animal_ in bed—possessive and demanding and just about everything in the world guaranteed to leave Harry forever at his mercy.

He pulls out his mobile and trails behind—not wanting to call anyone's attention—then sends a quick text to Hermione.

_We're at this posh hotel in London. The Lanesborough. Long fucking story. We need you here for a confab._

_Be there soon. Ron's made something we think can be useful._

_Brilliant. Have him make sure it works before he gets us all blown up._

He knows Ron will take it as the joke as it's meant to be. Excluding the time Harry thought a botched bracelet would make a fantastic cock ring—it vibrated like a motherfucker—Ron and Hermione's inventions have never caused him harm.

He looks over at Draco sitting opposite the receptionist at the fancy-looking wooden desk. The receptionist is smiling at him dreamily, apparently entirely unaware that the man she's talking to is in a Soho twink's daily clubwear and nothing on his feet.

Harry sighs and begins to text again.

_Better bring along Robards, too._

The things he'll do for Draco seemingly have no bounds. Gawain Robards is as annoying as he is an arrogant headcase, and Harry cannot for the life of him understand why Draco regards him so highly.

_Got it._

He sends a text to Jules with their location and receives a middle finger emoji in response. Harry scowls at it for a good few second before another message comes in.

 _Oops, I meant {thumbs up emoji}._

He rolls his eyes and pockets his mobile. He absently checks out Draco's arse as he rises from the desk and leans over to shake the receptionist's hand, wondering if Draco might like to try things the other way for a quick round two. Harry shakes his head at himself just as Draco spots him hovering in the corner like a half-naked perv. This bond between them is wreaking havoc on his sexual appetite. They'd almost just lost their lives for god's sake, and all Harry can think about is if they have enough time for another round before Hermione shows up.

Draco nods towards the dark room beyond the plaque labelled " _The Library Bar_ " and Harry follows his lead, feeling a thrill up his spine when Draco presses his hand on his lower back as they cross the room. The bar staff are all dressed in suits with bowties, and Harry is certain that if he weren't with someone who looks like Draco—even in black mesh and joggers—he would have been thrown out ages ago. The sheer opulence of the place alone is overwhelming. Even the bloody carpets look like they've been woven with billion-dollar silk.

They take a seat in a corner, Harry sitting in a small butter-soft booth, and Draco taking the seat opposite, both angled in such a way that they face the exit. Harry checks his watch. It's just after nine in the morning, but there are two businessmen at the bar, nursing drinks that don't look anything like orange juice. Out of the corner of his eye he spots a crew of harried-looking bellboys and other employees rushing to the elevator, and he frowns.

Draco follows his gaze and shrugs. "I told them it was fine if the room was unstocked, but they insisted."

"They insisted," Harry repeats.

A staff member begins to approach them, but Draco waves them away with a careless gesture, and god, if Harry hadn't already been aware of how casually _domineering_ Draco can be, he would be a puddle right now. 

"We'll have something to eat in the room," Draco says, ending the sentence on the uptake like he means it as a question, though it seems like a command anyway. Harry twitches in his seat, willing his cock to behave. The waitstaff scurries away. "You don't mind, do you?" Draco continues, seemingly oblivious.

Trying not to think of the reason why Draco doesn't feel the same need for food isn't helping either. It only makes Harry's reminisce over how brutally Draco had wrecked him the night before, how it had felt when he sunk his teeth in, how _hard_ Harry had come from the bite alone.

He imagines a lifetime of sex _that_ intense, and he shudders from the want of it. He catches Draco's gaze, and from the way his nostrils flare, how bright his eyes turn even in the dimly lit bar, he knows that Draco can smell his arousal.

Harry drags his focus to something else. "How did you get the room?"

Draco gives himself a small shake, looking flushed and flustered. "Eh?"

The phrase is so characteristically _un-Draco_ that it eases a little of the sexual tension between them. Harry laughs. "I didn't think you had any money in your joggers. How did you pay?"

"Oh." Draco's cheeks flame even further. "I didn't have to pay. I own it."

Harry's mouth falls open against his will. "You… own it? Like… what? The room?"

"No." Draco frowns, looking perplexed. "What? Why would I own a hotel room? I own the hotel."

"You own. The hotel."

"My family owns the management company that owns the hotel." He pauses, looking slightly anxious. "The deed for this one was a gift for my eighteenth birthday." When Harry doesn't say anything, Draco adds, "We don't have to worry about my father if that's what's on your mind."

He has always known that Draco's _made_ of money, but seeing it up close, being able to interact with the physical evidence of that kind of wealth, is a whole different experience and a lot more intimidating than he thought it would be.

"You said, ‘this one.'" Harry says. "That means there are others? Other hotels that you… own?"

"That my family owns, yes." There's a long stretch of silence between them. Draco looks around the room for a bit then gets up from his chair, slides into the booth beside Harry, and touches his arm. "You're making me bloody anxious. What is it?"

"Nothing. It's just…." Harry waves his hand absently, and Draco follows his hand movements studying the air above them, as if something will suddenly appear to explain Harry's strangeness.

"What—?" Draco looks around the room again, then his expression clears, and finally it falls. "You mean the money," he says quietly.

"I—" Harry begins, but they're interrupted by a very young porter, who immediately defers to Draco as the man in charge. Harry rolls his eyes.

"Mr Malfoy, sir, your room is ready."

"Thank you," Draco says, his accent more posh than ever. He wonders if Draco is aware of his tendency to code switch when he's trying to seem unbothered and in-control. Hearing Draco's crisp enunciation sharpen even more as he wrecked Harry with his cock was a serious turn on.

"We won't be needing any further assistance," Draco adds as he slips out of the booth, then takes Harry's hand to help him up. "I have a key, and we have no luggage."

The porter tugs nervously at his fringe, then seems to rally himself. "Sir. It's policy for us—"

"If anyone has a problem, you'll send them to me, won't you?" Draco looks down at him with a tight smile, and the boy swallows and bobs his head. "Yes, sir." He hustles away before Harry can swat Draco on the arm.

"You're a right terror when you want to be, aren't you?" he says as they walk towards the lift.

Draco shrugs as he punches the bell. "I wanted us to be alone," he says in a low voice. "Still a bit…."

He trails off and Harry prods his arm. "Go on."

Draco's gaze trails over Harry's body before he reaches out and tugs Harry's zipper properly closed, hiding most of his skin. "Territorial."

The lift dings, and they both step in, Harry in speechless contemplation, Draco looking entirely on edge.

The doors open again to a stately-looking carpeted hallway, and Draco leads the way, opening the room's large gold-trim doors with a wave of his hand. They open up to a bloody fucking _palace_ , and Harry pauses at the threshold, afraid to even step in.

Draco takes his hand and pulls him inside, and when he closes the door behind them, his expression is creased with anxiety. They step into an opulent sitting room, with gilded French furniture and fresh flowers in china vases. The sitting room—one of many judging by the sheer size of the place—abuts a small dining room, and then leads into a dark red, smoky-looking office. There's a TV built into a wall, set in a golden picture frame. It's the kind of thing only rich people would think to do, and Harry wants to touch it just to see how it works, but Draco's unease is pouring off him, and he suddenly halts their impromptu tour and turns to Harry. His gaze is bright and insecure and completely unguarded, and Harry's stomach flutters and swells with a wave of helpless affection.

"Does it bother you so much then?"

"That you might be richer than the queen of bloody England?" Harry tugs at the string of Draco's joggers and yanks him forward. "Nope. No, not at all."

The shadow of smile crosses Draco's face, but he still looks unsure.

Harry slips his fingers beneath the thin tee and grazes his fingers across Draco's bare stomach, loving the way Draco's breath catches as he does it. "I know you can't help it," Harry says. "I love you either way, you know that, yeah?"

Draco's gaze darts away, and he looks around at the room, clearly taking in the delicate French furniture, the gold-plated columns, and the heavy, expensive drapery. On the coffee table sits a fine china tea service, with blue flowers inlaid with delicate silver threads. "I suppose it's all a bit much."

Harry accepts the deflection easily enough. They've only just begun to say these things to each other; it will take some time for Draco to get used to being openly and unequivocally loved. He lifts Draco's palm and kisses it. "Just a bit, yeah. But I can manage."

He leans in and kisses Draco sweetly on the mouth. Draco immediately clutches Harry's head, knots his fingers into Harry's hair, and deepens the kiss. Draco slips his tongue inside with a soft moan and explores Harry's mouth before Harry gently pulls away.

Draco's expression is both frustrated and slightly smitten. "Every time you kiss me, I want to fuck you."

Harry grins. "No time. Hermione and Ron are on the way. So are Jules and Theo."

Draco blanches. "I forgot to call Gawain," he says. "Merlin, he's going to kill me."

Harry hopes there'll be a day he hears Draco say the name _Gawain_ and his hackles won't raise. "Hermione's going to bring him along, don't worry."

"What about Seamus and Dean?"

Harry holds out his mobile. "You're on your own with that one."

He hands Draco the phone, and Draco disappears down the hallway briefly, then he comes back into the room holding the mobile up with an exasperated look. "Would you just… do the thing that makes this work."

Harry chokes out a laugh and unlocks the screen, finds Dean's number, and then hits _dial_ before he hands it back. As Draco walks away looking harried, he absently says, "Oh, feel free to walk around, shower, eat. The room is fully stocked. You must be starving."

Harry nods and looks at the table, which is indeed laid out with a multitude of breakfast items. He picks up a brochure, " _The Royal Suite,_ " and absently thumbs through as he munches on some fruit. Why one hotel room would ever have to hold eighteen people, Harry can't understand, but apparently this one can. He wanders to the window, which gives an impressive view of the Palace Gardens, but it's a grey and gloomy morning, and the effect is lost.

With Draco gone, Harry's thoughts turn to Vyken. The only impression Harry had previously made of Vyken was from Draco's memories, and even those had Harry's hackles raised. To finally see him in the flesh, to witness the raw power of him and experience the demanding heaviness of his aura was a lot to take in. Vyken was fast and sharp, and in that one moment where they looked into each other's eyes, Harry had seen what Robards meant when he said Vyken was _obsessed._

The only reason Vyken had shown up was to take Draco away, Harry has no doubt about that, and Harry had only been able to escape by distraction. If they try to take Vyken down in his own home turf, the odds could stack up against them.

Still, Vyken had shown his hand.

Harry wonders if Draco realises that _he_ is Vyken's weakness. If they offered up Draco as bait, Vyken would come running in a heartbeat. Perhaps it might save lives and a lot of time, but it's not something Harry can bring himself to suggest. He knows Draco would not hesitate to put himself in danger to get Padma back.

 _This_ is why Draco had been so vehemently against anything happening between them back when they were partners. Because Draco is Harry's weakness, too, and he won't sacrifice Draco to save anyone else, and an Auror partnership like that would never work. Seamus had said that Harry was a better man than all of them, but Harry knows that isn't true. When he thinks of protecting Draco or protecting all the Muggles stuck at the coven against their will, he can't say with full confidence that he would protect all of the Muggles' lives over his mate's. The knowledge hardens his resolve to steel.

There is no fucking way Vyken's touching Draco ever again.

Harry retreats to the table and properly tucks in, scarfing down a few slices of bacon, some mince pies, toast, marmalade and tea. When Draco doesn't reappear after Harry's impromptu feast, Harry traverses the maze of the suite—there are _three_ bloody sitting rooms—until the sound of a running shower lures Harry inside a luxurious marble bathroom.

Harry strips out of his clothes, sets his glasses by the sink, and steps in just as Draco is rinsing his head under the shower. His long hair feathers over his shoulders and his collarbones, darkened by the water, and Harry can't stop himself from reaching out to touch the hard lines of Draco's toned chest. His fingers ghost along the ridges of muscle, until Draco wipes his face and opens his eyes. He steps from beneath the spray and calmly pulls Harry into a deep and possessive kiss, seemingly unsurprised by his presence.

They kiss slowly and leisurely beneath the warm spray as Harry takes Draco's thick cock in hand, remembering with carnal fondness what it's like to have all that _meat_ in his mouth. He gently strokes Draco's cock, and Draco gasps softly and mouths the shell of Harry's ear as he reaches between them to wrap his hand around Harry's and urge him along.

"Thought we didn't have time." Draco moans a little as Harry thumbs the head of his cock.

"We'll make it quick."

Draco spins him around and Harry braces himself against the marble walls as Draco breaches him with two spell-slick fingers. It's all the warning he gets before Draco enters him quickly and possessively, and Harry's cry echoes through the entire bath. If he hadn't been so thoroughly fucked the night before, Harry's not sure he would have been able to take Draco so easily, but even with the minimal stretching, the burn of Draco's fat cock is just on the right side of sensual, and his thighs already begin to quiver. Harry arches his back, moaning loudly as Draco pounds his arse with relentless, dominating passion, and he wonders how long Draco had been quietly suffering alone in here, longing to do this again.

The bond between them swells, and suddenly Draco's consciousness seeps softly into Harry's mind, as if on a gentle wave. He thought he had dreamed it the night before, but it's real, and with a surge of unmeasurable fondness that almost leaves him in an emotional heap on the tiles, Harry reaches out carefully and finds Draco there waiting for him.

_Fuck… You feel so good._

_I can hear you._

Draco thrusts hard for a few deep, mind-shattering strokes, and Harry cries out as Draco's cock grazes his prostate again and again. He tries to wrap a hand around his own cock, but Draco bats his hand away and begins stroking him.

_I feel you._

_Bite me._

Draco suddenly stills behind him, and Harry reaches a hand back to dig into his arse and urge him on.

"You don't need to bloody freak out every time I mention it, you know."

_No. Someone's here._

Harry rocks his hips, bounces slowly on Draco's cock, and Draco releases a heavy startled moan, that echoes off the walls. His fingers dig into Harry's hips.

_It's Theo and Jules. Harry, they're like me. They can hear us._

_Fuck them._

Draco breathes a heavy laugh. _I'm fucking you._

 _Draco bite me. I need you to watch my back._ Harry pants heavily as Draco thrusts inside him again. _I need you at full strength._

He pulls out, and Harry turns to him frustrated, opening his mouth to protest. He's swiftly cut off when Draco roughly cups the back up his head and pulls Harry forward, pressing their damp foreheads together. "You're not my fucking… food source."

Their cocks brush against each other and Harry rocks his hips, panting into Draco's mouth as their lips barely brush each other. Draco crowds him up against the tile, and Harry drapes his arms around Draco's shoulders. 

_I'm your everything. Now bite me, you stubborn wanker._

Draco effortlessly takes his weight as Harry wraps his legs around his waist. Draco angles his cock so it slips neatly inside him again, and starts fucking into him with deep, possessive stokes. This time when Draco bites him, the orgasm isn't immediate, but it builds slowly as Draco fucks into him and drinks Harry's blood, with Harry's cock trapped between them, sliding slickly along the firm ridges of Draco's abs. The control of his suction is already better, and by the time Harry does come, hard enough that some spunk lands on Draco's collarbone, he's already lightheaded and dizzy in Draco's arms. He can feel when Draco comes, echoing through the bond and in the soft groan at Harry's ear. Draco's cock pulses and fills him and when he pulls away, his come slips right out Harry's loosened rim.

Draco gently sets him down and leads him beneath the light spray of water, colder now after Draco adjusts the dial. He absently fingers Harry's spunk-filled arse, as he noses the skin above Harry's collarbone, licking him gently and fisting Harry's hair in his hands. 

_Can you handle a little more?_

Harry nods and moans deliriously as Draco wraps his fingers around Harry's throat and sinks his teeth into the space between his neck and shoulder, suckling once more as he cuts off Harry's air supply. The mingling of pleasure and pain, the feel of Draco fucking him with his fingers as he drinks, the lack of oxygen to the brain, all coalesces into a heavy dose of sensory overload, and Harry can only clutch onto his mate and ride the wave of sensation until he weakly ejaculates onto Draco's muscled thigh. 

When he can think again, Draco is there, wrapping the warm and protective threads of the bond all around him and holding him close.

_All right?_

Harry nods, and Draco holds him up against the tile as he Summons a Blood-Replenishing Potion. Draco's magic is so powerful that it snaps and crackles around him, and Harry can feel the waves of his energy crashing into him like heavy waves against a port in a storm.

"You're getting stronger."

Draco turns off the spray and hands Harry the vial, observing Harry carefully as he knocks it back. Harry instantly feels a lot more alert and he kisses Draco's shoulder.

"I'm all right," Harry says. "Hermione brewed this herself, so it's got a bit of Pepper-Up."

Draco takes the vial, sets it on the ledge, and then pulls Harry into his arms in an uncharacteristic hug. Harry rubs his shoulder. "Draco, really, I'm fine."

Draco pulls back and brushes the hair off Harry's face, Summons a towel and then wraps it around him like blanket, and gently touches the side of Harry's neck. It already feels raw and bruised from Draco's vise-like grip.

_I should heal these, but don't I want to._

_Then don't._

Draco opens his mouth to respond, but abruptly stills before his face turns beet-red.

"What is Jules saying now?"

Draco shakes his head. "He's a lewd bastard. Not anything worth repeating."

_They're waiting for us in the sitting room._

_Which one?_

They both laugh, and Harry's heart swells. He loves how easily they've found a way to go back and forth between mental and verbal communication, resorting to it as though they've been connected this way all their lives.

"Harry." Draco anxiously tucks a lock of damp hair behind his ear, and he doesn't meet Harry's eyes. Harry tenses, already knowing he's not going to like what Draco is working himself up to say. 

"I should use a Giver if I have to feed—"

A wave of possessive jealousy snarls out of Harry and over the passage of the bond before he can rein it back, and Draco shuts his mouth abruptly. Harry is shocked at how much he _hates_ the idea of Draco feeding on anyone else, and the bond between them agrees heartily, standing at attention and fuelling his righteous indignation. 

"Blood-Replenishing Potion works just fine."

Draco looks like he has a lot to say to that, but he only nods his head and continues to dry Harry off with the towel like a child.

"Why don't you dry your own skin," Harry mutters, still cross.

Draco smiles at him and kisses him on the nose, then dodges away when Harry tries to smack his arm. "I've never seen you this possessive," he says, looking strangely charmed. He Summons his own towel and wraps it around himself as he steps out of the bathroom.

"Yes, you have," Harry grouches. "You just didn't notice."

But Draco doesn't even hear him—or maybe he does with that vampire hearing and elects to ignore what he's heard. He walks out of the bathroom, and Harry follows along into a lavish bedroom, already feeling a spring in his step from the Pepper-Up.

"What on earth am I going to wear?"

Draco gives him a guilty look. "Almost everything in here is in my size."

He leads Harry to a giant walk-in closet, filled with slacks and jeans and shirts and jumpers, socks and cufflinks, shoes and god knows what else—all of it probably valued at a million dollars each. Harry remains still and gapes. Apparently, all of this is what billionaires mean when they say they've ‘stocked' their sodding hotel rooms.

Draco tosses a Henley and jeans at him. "You can probably adjust it, if you need to."

After they both get dressed—Draco of course looks like goddamned model in a cream turtleneck jumper, jeans and boots—they head to the sitting room where Jules and Theo Nott are both waiting, seemingly enjoying the remains of the lavish breakfast without a care.

Jules looks just as annoying as the last time Harry saw him, his blue eyes mischievous, dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans. He waves at them from behind a bagel, and Harry shakes his head, though Draco smiles at him.

Nott looks… different. His temples are heavily flecked with grey and there is a long scar above his left eye disappearing into his thick, shoulder-length hair. He's dressed like a Muggle, which is strange enough in itself, but he's also dressed like the kind of Muggles who drink coffee imported from Colombia and call themselves vegan, and only eat artisanal, ‘organic' foods. His lean chest is covered in a thin, white T-shirt with rolled up sleeves and teal trousers that are as impractical as they are ugly. Apparently, Nott has missed the memo that it's winter, because his trousers are rolled up at the ankle, and his shoes are the type with fur inside that leave his heels exposed. The only thing worse would have been if he'd worn a fedora.

Unsurprisingly there's one on the table.

Still, the scar and the grey hair are unexpected. From what he's learned from Draco, Harry didn't think vampires _could_ scar.

Nott spots his expression and gives him a wry smile as he stands. "Let's just say my turning was not nearly as pleasant as your mate's."

His face is covered with greying stubble, and his brown eyes glow golden. Harry's gaze flicks to Jules, whose blue eyes are also luminescent, and he realises with a strange feeling of unreality that every vampire in the room has recently fed.

Harry wants to hear more about the scar and the greying hair, but Nott turns to Draco instead, a teasing expression on his surprisingly pretty mouth.

"Was that a Blood-Replenishing Potion I saw fly across the room a moment ago?" he says, giving them a devious smile. "You two finally worked out your little… problems?"

Draco rolls his eyes and walks around the table to snatch up a bar of chocolate. "Fuck off, Theo, how did you get in?"

Nott pulls out an ornate gold key from his pocket and grins. "Don't you remember I have this?"

Draco looks up at the key and blanches. "You little _shit._ Do you know how long—" Draco crosses the room and snatches it away. "You weren't supposed to keep that, you wanker. It's a family heirloom." Draco's gaze finds Harry's, and Harry raises an eyebrow in question. "It's a ward key. It's keyed to my family's magic."

"Oh, is it?" Harry says lightly. "And Nott has it because…?"

Draco's gaze flits away. "Because he's a bloody thief."

Nott laughs. "I think you're remembering the situation a bit differently—"Jules gives Theo a pointed look, and he abruptly closes his mouth. 

There's a brief pause, and Harry knows Nott and Jules are communicating through their bond—they're staring too intensely at each other for it to be anything else. 

Abruptly, Nott ends the staring match, and then smiles broadly at Draco, giving him a proper sweep. 

He pats Draco's cheek like an overzealous grandmother. "You look well, don't you?"

Draco doesn't flinch away, as if used to the treatment, and Harry and Jules share a look of commiseration.

"Where have you been?" Draco asks.

Nott's expression changes, and he drops his hand. "Here and there." He looks across at Harry. "You're the Hood then, aren't you?" He sighs and drops onto the blue suede sofa. "I see a lot of memory modification in my future."

Jules gets up from the table and shrugs out of his leather jacket. It's only then Harry notices the shoulder strap with the gun, and the lethal looking knife strapped to Jules' thigh.

"Are you with the Met or something?"

"Potter, not everything is your business…." Nott smiles at him, letting his canines drop dramatically. "Unless you want it to be."

Draco growls quietly. "Knock it off, Theo."

He nudges Harry to the seat furthest away from Nott, and Harry allows himself to be led away by whatever it is in Draco's nature that perceives Nott as a threat. Even if he finds it all very odd.

They both sit in the adjacent loveseat, and Nott grins at them. "Someone's pheromones are finally awake. Are you ready to saddle yourself with such a brute, Potter?"

Harry gives him an incredulous look. "God, you're annoying."

"Maybe. But from what I heard in my shop, you're really the brute aren't you?" His smile doesn't drop, though his gaze darkens, and he leans forward on his elbows as he continues, "You ever do something like that to Jules again, I will kill you."

Draco growls again beside him, but Harry puts a hand on his thigh. He studies Nott carefully, sees the sincerity in his gaze, but also the edges of the bond that fortify it. The sentiment is something Harry can understand, so he inclines his head in a nod.

At first, Theo seems taken aback at this acknowledgment of their mutual understanding, but Harry knows he doesn't have to say the words. Nott will understand the nature of the bond as well. He knows, that if _he_ were to do anything to hurt Draco, Harry would have his head, too.

Nott nods back and they look away from each other, to find both Jules and Draco staring at them in bemusement—though Draco's gaze darkens with the undertones of lust.

"You were at Borgin and Burkes," Draco says once he wrenches his gaze away from Harry's.

"You thought I'd leave Jules alone with Ministry drones? Fuck that, Draco, you should know better." Theo shakes his head and tucks a stray lock of silky hair behind his ear. It's then that Harry notices then the band around his left ring finger, and is he's not surprised to see a matching ring on Jules'.

Jules catches him staring and gives him a wink. Harry rolls his eyes and looks away.

"If you'd fed," Nott continues. "Your senses wouldn't have been so dull. You would have known I was there." Nott tilts his head and looks between them "But you've fed sufficiently now." His gaze flicks to Harry. "From a wizard. Good. You will need all your strength. Vyken is very old and very powerful."

There's a knock at the door, which startles them all badly, but they each do their best to try to appear unfrazzled. 

Harry stands before Draco can leave him alone with the world's most annoying vampire duo. "It's probably Hermione and Ron."

Draco nods, and Harry retraces their earlier steps to find his way back to the entrance to open the door. Hermione walks in and immediately hugs him, before she pulls away and looks at the room in a breathless admiration.

He nods at her expression. "I know."

Ron claps him on the back and shuffles around similarly to Harry's own first introduction to the suite, as if he is afraid to touch anything. "If this isn't how the other half lives." Ron laughs shortly and then studies Harry's face. "You all right?"

Harry gives him a careful shrug, and Ron nods, understanding without words. "Draco and the others are just through there," Harry says. He gives Hermione a look. "Jules is the one I told you about."

Hermione's mouth twitches. "I'm sure he's not all that bad."

Harry makes a non-committal sound as they both shuffle by him. He finally spots Robards hanging back, and nods to him. "Come in," he says. "Draco's just through there." He points out the way, but Robards only nods vaguely at him as he brushes by. 

"I know the way." He walks briskly into the sitting room, and Harry masterfully ignores the urge to trip the smug bastard.

Before he closes the door, Seamus and Dean both exit the elevator, Seamus in full MLE gear, and Dean dressed in a protective motorcycle jacket and trousers.

Harry's heart lifts when he sees them. Even though he's still unbelievably disappointed in Seamus, he was worried that they might both bail, and they didn't. He supposes that must count for something.

Seamus nods at Harry as his blue eyes hesitantly meet Harry's gaze.

"Harry," he says with an awkward shrug and a head bob.

"I'm glad you came, Seamus. Really I am." He shakes Seamus' hand, and Dean smiles at them over Seamus' head as they embrace. When Harry pulls away, he shakes Dean's hand as well. "Come on," Harry says. "Everyone is in the sitting room."

They both follow Harry in, murmuring quietly to each other about the posh digs, and Harry's gaze drops to their intertwined hands, and he smiles.

Hermione watches Seamus enter the room with a tight expression on her face, but nods at him when he acknowledges her, then offers a small smile to Dean.

Nott speaks up over the growing din. "Can we get this started or what?" he says, moving to sit on the back of the sofa with his feet on the cushions before Jules yanks him back down and says something to him in French.

Hermione speaks up from where she's perched on a high-back plush chair at the head of the dining table, Ron standing at her right hand. "Sorry we took so long, we had to search for Robards." She gives Harry a pointed look "I _did_ try to reach you on your phone."

Nott snickers. "Sorry, Granger, he was otherwise occupied."

"Shut up, Nott," Harry says, taking his seat beside Draco, who automatically touches his face in a seemingly unconscious gesture before he pulls away. He sends feelings of reassurance over the bond and Draco smiles at him, and for a moment the rest of the room disappears.

That is, until Robards budges his way in.

"Apparently neither of them understands the use of a mobile," he says, his expression like a thundercloud. He sits on the plush, cream single-seater opposite Seamus and Dean, who are sat between the sofas that Draco and Harry and Theo and Jules are sitting on.

Draco rubs his temples. "I already said I was sorry." He pauses and then stills as his gaze flicks between Hermione and Robards. "Hang on. Why did you have to look for Gawain? Why weren't you at the Ministry?"

"Ah," Robards scratches the back of his head. "What I failed to mention to you when we last met, is that I've been sacked as well." Nobody says anything into the silence, and Robards adds a lacklustre, "Surprise!"

Draco's body goes tense as he turns to Robards in horror. "You let me talk to you like that? Why didn't you say anything?"

"You were already upset enough," Robards says carelessly. "It wasn't the time."

"Gawain…."

Jules tentatively raises his hand, and Draco shoots him a glare. "Yes, I heard you the first time." Everyone who is unaware of the mental connection between Jules and Draco—mainly Robards, Seamus, and Dean—looks perplexed, but Draco continues on without pause, "Gawain, we're not done talking about this." He gives Robards pointed stare, and Robards merely nods, then Draco turns to Nott. "Tell us everything you know."

Theo raises his brows. "I'll tell you what you _need_ to know, how about that?" He sends a particularly disdainful look towards Robards. "My community and your Ministry don't exactly get along."

Seamus and Dean exchange glances, and Hermione's eyebrows disappear into her hairline.

"You can start," Harry says, "by telling us how to get to Vyken's coven," 

"Before we get to that," Nott begins, "you need to understand this: each coven is surrounded by Goblin wards that prevent the use of any magical means of transport."

Again, the room descends into a shocked silence. Seamus breaks it, looking around at everyone with a gobsmacked expression. "Those're near impenetrable." His accent is thicker than usual, and he turns a worried glance at Dean, who is sitting beside him looking grey around the edges. Even Harry knows that this mission will be even more traumatic for Dean, who had all but recused himself from all aspects of the wizarding world and its magic. Seamus takes Dean's hand as he continues. "Goblin magic is very powerful, and it's too unpredictable to tamper with."

Nott nods his agreement. "You can't Apparate in or out of a coven. Not even a house-elf can." Nott eyes everyone in the room, as if waiting for them to understand the implications of this. "Portkeys disintegrate once they enter the wards."

Harry groans. "You're saying that once we get into the coven, there'll be no easy way to get out."

Jules shakes his head. "Not with your magic, no," he says. "It's also impossible to leave the coven on foot. It's surrounded by miles of ice and snow, you'd freeze to death before you could get far. The people in Vyken's coven are trapped." 

Nott reaches into his T-shirt and pulls out his necklace; on it is a large, intricately carved golden amulet. "Every leader of a coven has one of these. It's a key to the portal. If you can get a hold of Vyken's amulet, you have control of his." 

Draco shakes his head, a frustrated expression on his face. "What _is_ a portal?"

"It's what we'll use to get to Vyken's coven." Nott looks around the room as if preparing to explain something very complicated to a room full of trolls. "Portals were given to us by Goblins so we can travel around the world easily without arousing suspicion." Nott hesitates and looks for a moment strangely self-conscious. "Vampires need to travel so we can feed. Hunting for too long in one area… is a bad idea." 

Robards shifts forward almost to edge of his seat. "The Goblins just _gave_ that type of magic to vampire covens? Why?" 

The room is quiet for a while, and then Nott's silky voice breaks it. "There are many artefacts the Ministry and the wizarding world deem as… unsavoury. We keep them under our protection, and in exchange, the Goblins gave us the portals."

Hermione sputters. "But then why won't the Goblins take control from Vyken?!"

"Their artefacts are still perfectly safe," Jules says with a scowl. "Don't you think they're the first ones we went to for help? They don't get involved in conflicts. They don't care. Neither do wizards. The only time _you_ cared to come to us is because some humans went missing." He takes a breath, and his gaze darts to Draco and away hastily. "Even then you thought you could just come in and fix it, ruining an investigation I worked on for months."

"So, you _do_ have your own law enforcement." Hermione breathes with pure academic fascination.

Jules looks way from her without answering, but the way he adjusts his shoulder holster makes it clear she's guessed correctly.

"When Muggles get suspicious, out come the pitchforks," Nott adds, redirecting the conversation away from his mate. "The council made an arrangement with the Goblins centuries ago. It was reiterated when Potter broke into Gringotts."

Harry cheeks heat as everyone turns to stare at him, and Nott grins.

"Your name is now a curse in Gobbledygook," he says happily. "I love using it."

"How do the portals work?" Harry asks tersely.

"Think of each portal like a train station," Jules says. "It will transport you to any other portal in any part of the world if you have an amulet."

"It's the way we travel." Nott fingers his amulet absently as he speaks. "My coven is in Spain, but I can use my portal to get to any other in the world. There are portals all over Europe, each controlled by these amulets. This amulet is how I can get us _in._ But I'm certain once we've reached his coven, Vyken won't let us out. He's figured out a way to control them to his benefit." 

"And he's holding everyone who lives there at ransom?" Hermione says, her tone incredulous. "Why?" 

Nott tucks the amulet back into his shirt. "Because he's a power-hungry bastard," he says. His tone is deceptively light, but Harry can still feel the steel that braces his words. "He doesn't like the way my coven has grown. He thinks we want to stand against him. It doesn't help that my mate took Draco right out from under his nose." Then he pins his gaze on Draco, his brown eyes cold. "The only reason he's been able to do all of this is because of your magic." 

"Theo, you know that isn't Draco's fault," Jules puts in softly. "He didn't know what it would do."

Nott doesn't acknowledge Jules as he continues. "I've lost access to my coven," he says. "Jules and I haven't been able to return since you were turned."

Draco looks away from Nott's gaze, his expression twisted by guilt, and Harry puts an arm on his shoulder. "That's in the past," he says. "We're here to help you now."

Hermione's expression turns fierce. "Where do we go?" 

Nott looks to Jules. "There is only one portal left that Vyken isn't in control of. The only one he hasn't closed off. I'm not sure he knows that it exists."

"It's in France, isn't it?" Dean asks.

Jules nods. "Les Andelys, in Normandy." 

"I used it to escape, I don't know how." Dean looks around the room and shivers. "I think my magic did everything it could to get me out. But when I escaped, the path had disappeared."

Nott nods. "The entrance to the catacomb closes once you leave it," he says. "Once I use the amulet, it will open again." 

"So, what's the plan?" Ron says briskly. "Nott leads everyone into the coven, you lot search for Vyken and retrieve his amulet?"

Jules nods. "That seems to be the best plan we have."

Harry looks to Draco to gauge his reaction, but Draco is studying the coffee table in front of him and will not meet Harry's gaze. He seems to be trying to gear himself up to speak, and Harry wants to touch him, or comfort him in some way, but he resists, not certain how Draco will react to that in front of a group. In front of Robards.

"Vyken is…." Draco trails off into an uneasy silence. 

Harry can only see his side profile from where he sits, but from the muscle jumping in Draco's jaw, and the way he clenches his fists, he knows that Draco is thinking about the fight in his flat. 

He takes up the thread of the conversation to give Draco a moment. "We had a run-in with Vyken this morning," he says. "He's unstable and brimming with magical energy, but he's fast, and he's very powerful." 

"He came to convince me to join him somehow. I'm not sure, but," Draco gives Harry an apologetic look as he continues, "I think we can use it against him." 

Harry's stomach sinks with dread—this is exactly what he was afraid would happen—but before he can protest, Nott leans forward, elbows on his knees, and says, "You think this is all about you then?" 

His tone a little too casual to be believed. Harry watches Nott closely, making careful note of the way he cannot seem to sit without fidgeting. 

_Nott is hiding something._

_I know_

"I think I can lure him out somehow," Draco says. "Then at least we can use the element of surprise. Ambush him before he can take the upper hand." 

"Nope," Harry says flatly. "We're not doing that," 

Draco touches his arm lightly. "You know it's the best plan." 

_Think like an Auror. Not like my mate._

_I'm not an Auror anymore._

"Granger," Robards interrupts their silent argument, though his gaze lingers on the space between Harry and Draco. "This mission belongs to your department. As handler, you have the final say on how we run this. Make a decision. We don't have time for arguments." 

Harry presses his lips together and counts backwards from thirty to calm his magic from spiralling loose and turning Robards into a pile of smoking dust.

Hermione's face is drawn, though she gives Harry a helpless look. "I'm sorry, Harry, but both Robards and Draco are right." Her entire demeanour changes as she takes the reins of the confab. "Draco, do you remember enough of the coven to find your way to Vyken once we get in?" 

Harry sits back in his seat and folds his arm across his chest, silently fuming, torn between wanting to kill Draco and to protect him, annoyed that he's never been able to completely close off his mental shields to anyone, else he'd do it right now just to make a point.

Draco's clearly trying to catch Harry's eye, sending him a gentle mental nudge to get his attention, but Harry ignores him completely. 

"I think I might," Draco says, "if Jules is with me—"

"He won't be," Nott interjects. "I will." 

Jules begins to protest in French, but after what looks to the rest of the room to be a particularly venomous staring match—but what Harry knows to be a mental argument similar to the one he just had with Draco—Nott continues, "I know the coven very well. I'll go with Draco to find Vyken." 

Hermione nods. "Then this is our plan: we enter the coven, separate into two groups. Harry, you're with me and Jules; we'll look for Padma. Seamus, Robards, I need you to find the Muggles." She pauses. "Dean, you shouldn't be here at all." Dean looks ready to argue at that, but Hermione holds up her hand to quell his protest before he can make it. "But you're the only one here with an idea of where those Muggles might be, so you're with them." 

She stops and looks around the room. "Everyone clear?" When no one says anything, she nods in affirmative, then looks to Ron. 

"Do we have everything we need?" 

"We brought the—" he gestures, and Hermione nods. 

"Yes, and the—" Ron nods vigorously, digging through his pockets and setting out a series of random artefacts on the table as Hermione sorts them out in an order than probably only makes sense to them both.

Everyone stares at them in silence as they work, and when they come to a stopping point, Ron looks up with a smile. "We have it in hand. We go in, get Padma, get the Muggles out—"

"And the vampires," Draco says quietly, "Don't forget about them."

Ron's ears turn red. "I didn't mean—"

Nott gives Ron a dark look. "We know exactly what you meant."

"Theo…." Hermione trails off when Nott turns his glower on her.

Jules looks to Ron. "Half of those vampires are trapped inside that coven with Vyken, afraid to challenge him because of the power he holds over them." He looks at Draco. "Even before Draco fed him with magic. They're just as worth rescuing as your friend."

"Of course they are!" Hermione says indignantly. "There's no need for us to argue." She checks her watch. "We'll leave after it gets dark. Everyone should get ready," she gives Harry a pointed look, "and take time to find your focus." 

Harry stands and stalks across the sitting room to retrieve his cloak from the table. "Great," he says. "we send Draco in like a piece of fucking meat, then try our best so that everything doesn't go to shit. Brilliant." He slips his hand into his pocket to retrieve his shrunken gear, then crosses the room, ignoring the look that Draco sends his way when he brushes past and heads to an empty bedroom to brood in peace.

After a few hours of working up a fury that Draco hasn't tried to talk to him again, and imagining him off somewhere with _Gawain,_ Ron walks into the bedroom Harry has sequestered himself in and hovers at the door. 

He watches silently as Harry gets ready for the mission with a thundercloud over his head, not even coming forward to help when Harry almost gets stuck while putting on his leather combat jacket. 

When Harry finally emerges from that nightmare, he slips his wand into the holster at his thigh, and Ron sighs and joins him in front of the mirror.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, dusting an invisible speck from Harry's shoulder. 

"No."

"All right." Ron quickly changes tack, and gets right back to work, pulling out a small transparent orb from his pouch and holding it out. "Got something for you. It's sort of like a like a nullifier. If you can get this around Vyken, he won't be able to move or use magic at all."

Harry takes it and turns it over in his palm. It's light and smooth.

"It's a lot like the other one you like to abuse suspects with," Ron continues. "Except it'll cast a shield around his body like a forcefield that's glued to him alone. The best part is, you can shrink him down after he's trapped and put him in your pocket." Ron grins. "Very humiliating for a powerful vampire."

"Brilliant, mate," Harry says with a laugh.

Ron shrugs. "Hugo's idea, really," he says. "Pokémon, I think it's called."

"I know it." Harry smiles as he slips the orb into his pouch and zips up his jacket.

"I have the usual missives of course," Ron says. He takes Harry's hand in his and inspects the bracelets that cover his wrists. "Mum says to keep your head down. Rose and Hugo haven't seen you in two days, so, of course, they're falling apart." Harry laughs. "And Teddy says don't get yourself killed."

"I suspect only because he knows I got him a new racing broom for Christmas."

"Hmm." Ron lifts Harry's wrist and raises an eyebrow. "I notice the sonic pulse I gave you is missing. Do I want to hear that story?"

Harry shakes his head. "Better not, mate. It was gnarly."

Ron lets his hand go, and his eyebrows draw downwards. "Seriously, Harry, be careful." Harry nods and Ron does the same, wearing the same bleak expression he wears anytime he sends Harry and Hermione off on a mission. "Don't do anything stupid," he says. "Don't let Draco distract you. He can take care of himself."

Harry nods again, but then he says, "You know that's easier said than done."

Ron sighs. "I know," he says. "And I shouldn't ask this myself, but if you can, will you keep an eye on my wife?"

Harry squeezes Ron's shoulder. "Always."

When they return to the sitting room, everyone is waiting for them in the entryway, and Hermione gestures with a large gilded picture frame. "Here's our Portkey, everyone." She waves her wand and it begins to vibrate, and Ron gives her a kiss on her forehead and murmurs in her ear before stepping back.

"Good luck, everyone," he says sombrely.

Harry catches Draco's gaze across the Portkey where he stands between Seamus and Dean, dressed in his Auror robes, his grey eyes bright with affection.

He catches the thought just as the Portkey activates and has to swallow the thick knot of his tangled emotions before he can he sends it right back. 

_I love you, too._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some French in this chapter. If you hover your curser over the French words, an English translation should appear!

Harry

They land in the thick of an icy bush, surrounded by trees and greenery. There's enough light that Harry can see a few feet ahead, but it's quickly dwindling as night approaches. Hermione casts a low-level _Lumos_ to aid their path as Jules leads the way, Theo at his side.

In the distance are the twinkling lights of a small village lit at Christmas, but immediately surrounding them are heavy trees. The grass is lightly carpeted with snow and slush. The soft sounds of flowing water trickles past them from the west, and the earth is soggy beneath his boots.

Harry casts a Warming Charm around himself, and his body shudders with relief. Robards and Draco walk ahead, just behind Theo and Jules, followed by Seamus, Dean, and Hermione, then Harry alone at the rear. Robards and Draco are having a low-murmured, heated conversation, with Draco nodding at frequent intervals. Robards' expression is pinched and grave, and the grey at his temples seems to have doubled in the past few hours alone.

"No unnecessary risks…." is the only part of the conversation Harry can pick up from his place in the group, and he looks away from them, wrapping another layer of Warming Charms around himself and swallowing down his annoyance as they traverse the snowy bush.

He can admit to himself that Robards cares about Draco. Genuinely cares. It's obvious in the way he looks at Draco, how even now, he defaults to the role of teacher again, talking through strategy with Draco as though it's any other mission they are about to undertake.

Harry wishes for a bit of his strength—wishes that he could look on Draco now as nothing but a fellow trained combatant, but all he wants to do is send Draco home and continue the mission on his own. The bond gives a little shudder, making its displeasure with the situation known, but he makes an effort to cast this aside. Ron's right, Draco can take of himself. He's done it again and again in the twelve years he's been an Auror, and to doubt him now would be an unfair judgement of his skill.

Harry continues quietly along the path, restless and uneasy, and it takes a while for him to notice that Draco has dropped back to walk by his side, leaving Robards to talk with Nott as they forge ahead.

Draco takes his hand without pausing his stride and interlocks their gloved fingers as much as he can with the soft, worn leather keeping a barrier between them.

_Stop being angry with me, please. I have to do this. Everything that's happening is my fault._

Harry doesn't respond for a while, though he doesn't let go of Draco's hand. He needs some time to find the right words to say, to acknowledge that he understands the world does not revolve around him. _It's not your fault, and I'm not angry with you. I'm… scared._

Draco squeezes his hand. _We've done this before, haven't we? Gone in to battle together?_

_We didn't have this, then. The bond between us._

_It seems everyone else is suffering the consequences of my actions._

Jules and Theo come to a stop a few metres ahead, and the others trot to catch up with them. Harry holds Draco's hand firm and stops walking, forcing him to pause and look at Harry, a question in his eyes.

_You see this as a consequence?_

"No." Draco's voice is emphatic; it rings out in the dead clear of night. "That's not what I meant."

"Because I like this," Harry says, more quietly than he had intended. "I thought you did, too."

"I do!" Draco cups Harry's face. "Merlin, Harry, of course, I do. But you didn't ask for it, did you?"

"Yes, I did." Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Jules waving them over as Theo removes the chain with his amulet from around his neck. "When I fell for you, I asked for everything."

_This is everything._

Draco's gaze is incredulous, then he lowers his mouth to Harry's in a brief, fierce kiss. Harry digs his fingers into Draco's biceps, grounding himself in the feel of his mate. After a moment or two—full of things left unsaid, and no real need to say them—they walk ahead to join the others.

Jules is crouched in front of a frost-covered boulder as the others form a semicircle around him. When Harry and Draco join them, Jules looks up. "La voilà," Jules says. He leans forward and dusts the bit of ice off its surface, exposing a symbol that matches the design of Nott's amulet. Then he looks at the party behind them and says, "It's the entrance to the catacomb."

Robards steps forward and kneels to examine the stone, his face lit by his wand as Hermione joins him and casts a spell with a raised hand. The stone lights up, its rune symbols a cold blue as they all look on. Hermione looks fascinated, as if she wants to study its make-up even further, but Robards raises his hand, quelling her. "Come on, Nott," he says. "Let's see if this thing works."

They all step back, Hermione looking disappointed enough for Harry to smile at her in fond exasperation, and Nott drops his amulet onto the stone. The earth beneath them immediately crumbles, causing them all to step back as the entrance to a long, dark cave of bones opens before them.

They each look into the depths of the catacomb in bleak silence, until Hermione steps inside, lighting her wand, and venturing ahead.

Seamus, Dean, and Robards follow behind as the amulet rises and hovers, then floats back into Nott's outstretched hand. His brown eyes glow bright as he dusts it off and puts it back around his neck. Only then does Harry notice how much Nott's mouth has changed, how the edges of his sharp canines are suddenly visible. Nott follows the others in, though once inside, he waits at the entrance for Jules, saying something to him in French.

Jules seems stuck to the spot as he looks to the east, towards the misty mountain in the distance where the remains of a castle are visible on top of the hill. He frowns at it, unmoving, until Nott says something, again in French, his tone laced with tension. Finally, Jules tosses Harry a tight smile, and follows Nott in.

Harry joins Draco at the entrance.

_What was that about?_

_I don't know, but neither of them are telling us everything they know._

Draco steps into the tunnel, and Harry follows.

Draco's shoulders are hunched with tension as he walks into the cave, and he jumps as the entrance crumbles closed behind them.

Harry casts a _Lumos,_ illuminating Draco's face. His grey eyes shine like silver, and the edges of his sharpened canines are visible in the dim.

_Draco. What's happening?_

_I'm remembering things. Flashes. I'm not sure._

Harry looks ahead as the group keeps moving forward. 

_Anything I need to know?_

_I don't know, I'm sorry. It's confusing…._

Harry takes his hand. _It's all right._

Hermione pauses at the front of the group to peer at the skulls embedded into the walls before Seamus and Dean nudge her along. "I thought _catacombs_ was just… a thing they called it," she says as they shuffle ahead. "But this is an actual… catacomb."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Nott says from right behind her.

They walk at least half a mile before the narrow path opens up into a circular cavern with a large stone dais in its centre.

On the dais is a stone basin covered with runes, and Nott wastes no time in stepping onto the dais and pressing his amulet against the centre of the basin. The stone basin separates with a deep, grinding noise as the runes illuminate the cavern, casting an eerie blue glow upon their faces. With a crisp _snap,_ the runes separate and float away from the stone, like steam rising above water, and hover in the air above their heads.

Suddenly, they cease their ascent and swirl in dizzying circles around them, rotating through several configurations, before they still, return to the stone, and lie dormant.

Ominously, the earth around them begins to shudder, and the wall of bones before them opens up into another catacomb.

"That's the way in," Nott says, his low baritone echoing through the cavern. "We need to hurry. Vyken will know it's been opened."

They each cross the dais to the tunnel on the other side, until Harry is the last to step off the stone and onto the path. The second he does, the wall closes behind them, and the portal disappears.

They trod silently through the second catacomb for only a few metres before they reach a wooden stairway, which Jules takes first, followed by the rest of them. They emerge into a dark and empty log cabin, with a lit fireplace and blankets before the fire.

Harry walks to the window where everyone is gathered and waiting, unpacking their gear and casting Disillusionment Spells on themselves. Nott casts one over Jules, and Harry notes Dean's looks of distaste when Seamus casts the charm on him, but Seamus drops a kiss on his forehead and murmurs something in his ear, and Dean nods, his eyes shut.

Harry peers through the glass as he activates a few of the protective enchantments on several of his bracelets. It's dark outside, and there are several snow-laden paths, each converging onto a log cabin that is much larger than all the others. In the courtyard in the centre of all the cabins is a large Christmas tree, and its bright lights shine through the heavy branches, reflecting their multi-coloured glow upon the snow. Warm yellow string lights hang diagonally across from the cabins at random intervals, illuminating the courtyard below. It's warm and homey and beautiful.

It's also a bloody ghost-town. 

Based on the shadows he can see moving inside the largest cabin across the courtyard, it seems as though it's crowded with people, and Harry frowns. Why would everyone be in there?

"That's the dining hall," Draco says standing beside him and nodding towards the lit cabin.

Harry pulls off one of the protective bracelets from his wrist as he scans the grounds, making a rough mental schematic. "Are you remembering more?"

Draco merely nods, looking troubled, and Harry gently takes his wrist and slips his bracelet on over Draco's hand. "Take this," he says, waving his wand to activate the charm. "It'll help keep you safe."

Draco looks down at the red string. "What does it do?"

"It may help deflect Vyken's stolen magic," he says. "It's never been tested, but I'll feel better if you have it."

Draco trails a finger across the circle it makes and smiles. "Okay."

Hermione calls them all to the middle of the room, and they form a small circle around her for a final briefing. "Jules, where is Vyken most likely to be? Does he have a separate cabin?"

"South of the cluster in front of us." Jules points to the wood logs behind them. "The path to it runs that way."

"He's there," Nott says, gesturing with the amulet. "I can find him with this. You lot do what you have to, Draco and I will find Vyken."

Hermione looks like she has a lot to say about this, but Jules pipes up instead, directing an angry French rant towards Nott.

"Tu devrais me laisser venir avec toi."

"Non. J'ai besoin que tu aides les autres."

"Tu me dis ça en tant que chef ou en tant qu'âme sœur?"

"Les deux."

Robards makes a noisy huff from his corner. "We don't have time for this. We already know what everyone's doing. Draco, Nott, go." He looks to Hermione. "Granger, I think we should see what's happening in that cabin. What's your take?"

Hermione nods briskly as she pulls a few magicom links out of her pocket and begins handing them out to Seamus and Dean.

Harry agrees despite himself. "No one is milling about," he says, "And the other cabins look empty. They're holed up in there for some reason. We need to know what it is."

"Do they usually have dinner together, Jules?" Hermione asks.

But Draco is the one who answers. "Only special occasions, birthdays, but it's a bit late for dinner isn't it?"

"It's only about six pm," Nott puts in. "We're in Canada." 

Hermione looks at him as though she'd like to aim a powerful Bat-Bogey Hex his way. "You mean, you knew all along where the coven is?!" 

"I don't know where we are, Granger," Nott says, sounding bored. "I only know that we're in Canada." 

"Either way," Robards interjects, before Hermione can lay into Nott some more. "It doesn't matter." 

Hermione takes a calming breath. "Nott, Draco, go on ahead. Keep in touch." She tosses them both a magicom link that Nott eyes suspiciously before putting it into his ear.

She hands one to Harry and Robards, then puts one in her own ear before looking at Jules apologetically. "I'm sorry Jules, it'll only work with magic."

Jules waves a nonchalant hand, his gaze still locked on Nott. "I don't need it."

Their little circle disintegrates as they all stand, and Draco tugs Harry into a tight hug, kissing the shell of his ear. _I'll be fine._

_You better fucking be. If you get yourself killed just when I've finally got you, I'll never forgive you._

_Ditto._

Draco turns to leave when Harry suddenly remembers. "Wait!" He pulls out the orb that Ron had given him and hands it to Draco. "If you have a chance, launch this at Vyken's head. It will hold him in place and contain his magic."

Draco nods as he takes it and slips it into his pocket, and after one last, lingering look, he and Nott slip out the door.

Harry nods towards the dining hall. "Let's go."

Together they all exit the cabin and carefully tread across the snowy paths to the large log cabin ahead, staying closer to the boundaries of the snow-laden courtyard even though their Disillusionment Charms keeps them hidden. Hermione takes the lead, crouched low, Robards right at her heels. Harry takes the rear, and his gaze darts about for anyone, keeping Dean between him and Seamus, as Jules flanks Dean to the right.

The coven seems too peaceful, and their infiltration too easy. He half expects an army of vampires to jump out at him at any moment.

Halfway there, Jules suddenly stops. Then he looks back at them and smiles. "It's all right," he says. "I can hear them." He trots ahead, breaking formation, and walks into the cabin through the front door as if returning home.

"Jules!" Hermione whisper-yells, stopping short.

After a moment, they all follow him inside the dining hall. When Harry steps through the door behind all the others, wand at the ready, he stops short. The large log cabin is packed full of vampires seated together at long wooden tables, seemingly in the midst of a heated meeting.

At the helm, is Padma.

Her hair is a frazzled mess, and she looks a little worn around the edges, but she is alive and on her feet, and in the middle of a confab of her own.

She spots Hermione first and runs to her, then pulls her in for a hug, looking close to tears.

"I'm all right," she says in response to Hermione's silent question when she pulls away.

She spots Harry and hugs him too, then does the same with Seamus and Dean who both look bemused, though underneath Seamus' confusion is an expression of guilt.

She had embraced them all with the sense of someone who was just happy to see familiar faces after a long period of trauma, but when she spots Robards, she flies into his arms and bursts into uncharacteristic tears as he holds her close.

His large palm cups the back of Padma's head, and he closes his eyes briefly as he hugs her. It's only then Harry comes to a realisation about Robards: he's the kind of man who only lets a few people close, and he's a complete arse to everyone else. But the people he _does_ care about seem to forever receive his love, support, and his loyalty.

It still doesn't mean Harry has to like him.

"Are you all right?" Robards says gruffly when they part. He grips her shoulders. "Did he hurt you?"

Padma wipes her face, looking self-conscious after her emotional outburst, and then she shakes her head. "No," she says. "Not once. He never touched me."

She turns towards the cluster of vampires all sitting around them, observing their group warily as Jules greets a few of them by name.

A tall Asian man around Harry's age approaches them with Jules at his side. He's dressed in pyjamas from a video game Harry vaguely recognises, his stylish glasses perched on his nose, a long ponytail draped over his shoulder. He gently touches Padma's arm.

"This is Jules," he says, bringing Jules forward. He has an American accent, and he looks at Jules as if he hung the moon. "He's one of us." Padma shakes Jules' hand as he continues, "I told everyone you'd come back."

Jules smiles briefly at him, though his gaze is anxious as he studies the room. "Is this everyone? Where's Michael and—"

A woman about Robards' age quickly cuts him off with a shake of her head. Her hair is an inky black veil around her shoulders, and she impatiently brushes it aside as she speaks. "We had a vote over whether to help Padma free the humans and stand up against Vyken," she says. "Anyone not in this room voted against it."

"Oh," Jules says, his face falls, and then he turns to her and begins conversing in French.

"Padma, what's going on?" Harry says, pulling her aside. "How did all of this happen?"

"Vyken gave me a lot of free rein around the coven," she says, her tone shrewd. "I suppose he thought I was powerless without a wand." She smiles mischievously, though her brown eyes are still red-tinged. "But I made some friends." She gestures to the American from before, "Rei helped me set this up. Our plan was to try to get the Muggles out tonight and find a way out of here," she says. "But there are wards around this coven I can't even begin to fathom a way to break."

Hermione walks away from a group of vampires she was in deep conversation with. "They're Goblin wards," she says, and Padma's mouth falls open in shock. Hermione nods. "I know," she continues, "but we think we have a way out." Hermione gestures to the group of vampires behind her. "They told me you found the Muggles. Where?"

Rei answers, pushing his glasses up his nose. "There's a tunnel hidden beneath Michael's cabin. I found it when I went over to fix his laptop." Rei smiles. "Or, that may have been a ruse, because we knew something was up. Vyken's hiding them in a bunker. It's east of the grounds, less than a half mile away."

"So, Michael, whoever he is," Harry says. "He's sided with Vyken?"

Rei grimaces as he nods. "Him and a few others."

"How many?"

"Four."

Hermione frowns. "Are they likely to be keeping watch?"

Rei nods again. "And they have guns. Submachine guns. Heavy shit."

A pale and long-limbed middle-aged man joins their circle and addresses Jules, nodding at the rest of them. "Will they help us gain control of the portals?"

Harry answers before Jules can. "We're going to try," he says.

Most of the vampires in the room look relieved, but the middle-aged man frowns at Jules and they speak rapidly to each other in French. Harry doesn't know much of the language, but he picks up the words for _‘amulet,' ‘outsiders'_ and strangely, a reference to Jules' father. The word alone is enough to make Jules clam up and ends the discussion, and Harry files that information away for later.

"Seamus, Dean, Robards," Hermione says. "Can you take a group to help Padma and the others find the Muggles?"

Robards nods briskly and activates the magicom in his ear. "Done."

Hermione takes Robards' wrist and slips on a bracelet. "This emits a pulse of sound that's unbearable to a vampires' ears," she says, as most of the vampires in the room wince. "It will debilitate them long enough for a Stunner or an _Incarcerous_."

Robards nods again, and Hermione puts a hand on Seamus' shoulder. "Watch his back," she says, gesturing to Dean. "And be careful. Both of you."

She gives Padma a magicom link, and Padma smiles as she turns it over in her hands. "You're both Unspeakables, aren't you?" Harry gives her a wink, and Hermione makes a zipping motion over her mouth. 

"Make sure everyone in your group has combat training," Hermione says. "Keep in touch. We need to move quickly. Draco is—"

Padma almost drops the link and looks between Harry and Hermione with an expression of horror. "Draco's here?!"

A few of the vampires seem to perk up at the mention of Draco's name. A young teenaged girl with bright blond ringlets observes them with wide eyes and taps the dark-haired woman beside her to call her attention. 

"Yes," Robards says, looking around the room. "He went to find Vyken."

The woman with long inky black hair who spoke up before walks forward to their group, her face pale with worry. "But Jules said he's only just been turned! He'll be… just like a child! He can't take Vyken in a fight!"

Padma turns a furious gaze on him. "You sent him alone?"

Harry steps forward. "He not alone," he says. "He's with Theo Nott." When Padma blanches further, Harry's heartbeat races into overdrive. "Padma. What do you know?"

Padma lets out a frustrated breath, as she turns to her former boss. "Tell us," Robards says, his deep voice gruff.

"Whenever he deigned to speak to me, all Vyken could talk about was killing one of my wizard friends," Padma says. "He knew you would come." She runs her fingers through her hair, shaking her head. "Why did Draco come back? He must know that Vyken is—" She stops, and this time she shoves Robards' shoulder hard. "You're using him as bait?!"

"You just said it yourself, Patil," Robards says. "If Draco has some kind of… _hold_ over Vyken, we need to use that."

"But it's not Draco, Gawain!" Padma takes a breath. "Vyken has some kind of magical artefact. Now that I know about the wards, I think it might be Goblin made. And it's cursed. He told me he saved it to kill my friend."

Harry's heart hammers in his chest and he automatically reaches out for the bond and finds it still there whole and safe. "He's saving it for Draco?"

"No," Padma says grimly. "He's saving it for Nott."


	10. Chapter 10

Draco

Their path through the snow is quick and silent, and lit by the strings of cheery Christmas lights hung all over the coven. Draco's steps become more powerful and lithe the longer they traverse the snow, as if the newly-born predator beneath Draco's skin is slowly beginning to wake. Though the air is like ice on his face, he breathes in deep; it's fresh and brisk, and smells of green and air and life.

He remembers walking this path with Vyken at his side, chatting. Most times, Draco was probing for information, reporting it back to Padma, but some of those times—many of those times—they simply _talked._

This was the place where Jules had pulled him aside, when Draco was heading to Vyken's cabin after dinner, and had told him about his own investigation, had told Draco what an idiot he was for allowing himself to be bled.

This was the path he had taken with Dean, when Dean had woken him in the dead of night, shaking and scared and delirious and said there was something about the magic beneath the empty cabin south of the courtyard that had called to him. That he thought it might be a way out.

All the memories are flooding in now, patchy and slow, and painful. Each one fills in a small piece of the painting of the months he'd spent here. What strikes him most is how much he had been craving it without knowing what it was—how the reminder of what the coven was becoming to him burnishes his resolve to take it away from anyone who would try to harm it.

The dining hall full of coven members is more than a mile away, and still he can feel them. Perhaps this is why vampires live in covens in the first place. They all seem to be sensitive to the bonds that exist between them. There's still so much that Draco has left to learn, and the memories of the coven only make him crave that knowledge even more. Maybe there are different types of bonds between sire and turned, between mates. Perhaps there are even bonds between siblings, or very close friends. How do they work, and why?

Draco's not certain he'll ever be able to live outside a coven again now that he's found what he had lost, but he also knows he cannot live without Harry. In this way, he can understand why some of those bonds may have driven Vyken insane. To be torn between his need to protect his coven, between bonds he shares with his family, and his thirst for power… it must have been enough to push him over the edge.

"I can hear you thinking from over here," Theo grouses.

"Something I tend to do in dangerous situations," Draco retorts. "You should try it sometime."

They come upon Vyken's cabin, and it's just as Draco remembers: tall and imposing on the outside, but with the flickering light of a warm fireplace lit within. 

Theo stops him with a sudden hand on his arm. "He's waiting for us."

Draco nods. "I can smell him, too," he says. He gives Theo a pointed look. "Odd isn't it, that he's just sitting in there. Like fucking cat and mouse."

"I should explain a few things to you."

"Yes. I absolutely think you should," Draco says. "You've been hiding something all day. What the fuck is your play here, Theo?"

Theo's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he rubs his nose from the cold. "First, a question," he says. "If you take Vyken's amulet, will you become the leader of this coven?"

"What on earth does that have to do with anything?"

Theo sighs, and his gaze lifts towards the large bay windows of Vyken's cabin. The curtain seems to shift imperceptibly, and they both stare at it, holding their shoulders stiffly, but Vyken doesn't show himself at the window; he seems content to wait on them to enter.

"I'm going to tell you something now that not even Jules knows." Theo fingers the amulet beneath his shirt, shivering in the sharp wind that seems to cut through his Warming Charm. "Vyken was the one who turned me."

For a moment Draco's ears grow completely deaf to everything but the sound of his heartbeat, the roar of blood rushing in his ears. His magic rises like a bear from slumber, uneasily pacing about, wanting to claw at anything to release his frustration. Even his canines descend, as if ready for battle. "What did you just say?"

"I was a Giver like you for a while," Theo says, voice quiet. "To spite my father, I suppose. Nothing disgusts him more than creatures… except maybe Mu—Muggle-borns."

"Are you telling me that all along, you could get inside Vyken's head?"

Theo hesitates. "Not… easily," he says, his gaze flicking to the door of Vyken's cabin and back. "He tries to block me. But a connection between a sire and his turned is…."

"Difficult to suppress," Draco finishes.

Theo nods. "Either way, he banished me from this coven. Said I'd turned against him."

"Did you?"

"He only turned me for my magic," Theo says. "He has a dangerous attraction to it, and he wanted his very own live source." Theo smiles tightly. "Nothing about it was consensual." He points to his face. "I have the scar to prove it."

"So, that's why—"

"I look like this, yes. He had no idea what he was doing. I had to figure out that potion myself when I was dying on my feet. You're welcome, by the way."

"And you've come here for revenge?"

"Understand this," Theo says, ignoring the question. "All of this is about magic. He's obsessed with it. I suspect he might be a Squib. But he becomes addicted to the source. I wouldn't let him have it anymore. So, he tried to kill me."

"When was all of this?"

"A few years ago?" Theo shrugs. "I don't remember, time gets strange after a while." He takes a breath, looking at Draco as if gauging his reactions. "I escaped. I found Jules. We made friends, and I started building a coven of my own." He pulls the amulet from beneath his shirt. "I didn't earn this amulet, Draco. Not like you will," Theo says. "I made a deal for it. I told the Goblins I'd kill Vyken if they let me have it. They saw him for what he was before anyone could: a power-hungry fucking psychopath." He spits out the words as if he knows Vyken is listening.

"I can't let you kill him," Draco says. "He belongs in Azkaban."

"Fuck Azkaban!" Theo's voice is slowly breaking as he speaks. "Can't you see what he did to me? You think I should let this go? He ruined my fucking life!"

"Like Jules ruined mine?!" Draco's counter strikes home hard, and Theo's fingers shake as he blanches.

"That wasn't the same thing, and you know it."

"I'm not letting you become a murderer, Theo. I will stop you if I have to."

"You think because your mate is Harry Potter, you're more powerful than me?"

"I was always more powerful than you."

Theo sniffs into the quiet that follows, and then he laughs thickly. "He'll do anything to kill me, Draco," he says heavily. "He's been planning this moment for years. If anything happens to me, I need you to let Jules be part of your coven. He doesn't do well on his own."

"No." Draco shakes his head. "We're not talking about that because you are going to be fine. So is Jules."

"Draco, just listen." Theo takes off his amulet and puts it into Draco's palm. "Jules is my life. But he is more valuable to our community than you know. His family _is_ the council, and they don't speak to him because he's with me." He closes Draco's gloved palm over his amulet and steps back. "They suspect me because I turned up with an amulet, because I built my own coven… because I'm a wizard. Pick one. But Jules—" Theo touches the band on his ring finger. "Just promise me."

"If anything happens to you we're both dead," Draco says, slipping the amulet into his pocket, already planning to throw it in Theo's face when all this is over. "If Vyken's confident enough to just… sit inside and listen to this whole fucking conversation, he has something up his sleeve, and I'll need you on my side."

"He's afraid of your magic. Can't you hear the way his heart is racing?"

Draco can. But there is also the sound of footsteps slowly making their way down a wooden staircase. He raises his eyebrows at Theo, who nods at him.

Theo rolls his shoulders back, seemingly gearing himself up for a fight. "The council will be afraid of you," he says. "When they learn exactly what you are, who your mate is. But trust in Jules. He'll protect you even from his family. You're his."

"Just tell me what you're planning, Theo."

"You'll know by now that a wand is useless," Theo says. "I had to figure that one out myself. But think as if you're holding it in your palm. Focus on a fine point." Theo closes his eyes briefly as the footsteps from inside come closer, almost to the front door now. "Vyken knows he's been caught," he continues. "He has nothing to lose. What do you have to lose?"

He thinks of the green in Harry's eyes. The touch of Harry's mind against his, and reaches out to the bond, taking comfort in its presence. "Everything."

Theo nods. "Remember that."

The door to the cabin opens, and Vyken leans against the frame with a smile on his face, an apple in his hand. He peels it with a small gold dagger and pops a piece into his mouth before he winks at Draco.

"Is story time over, then?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some French in this chapter. If you hover your curser over the French words, an English translation should appear!

Draco

"You think I didn't know you sent your mate here to spy on me?" Vyken leans casually in his doorway as he addresses Theo. "You think I didn't know why his ponce of a father banished him?" Vyken bites into his apple then tosses it at Theo's head; Theo ducks and it misses by an inch. His face turns fiery red with fury. "You're still a spoiled, stupid little boy, Theo."

Vyken descends the few stairs towards them, and they both instinctively step back. Vyken laughs, holding up his hands. "No gun. No weapons. I'm behaving." He steps in front of Draco, and Draco eyes the amulet on his neck. It's a deeper gold and appears much older and more worn than Theo's. Vyken catches his look towards his amulet, and he touches Draco's face briefly. "Still think you're fast enough to fight me?"

"I've fed this time."

"So you have," Vyken says. "And from your mate. How sweet." Vyken digs his fingers deep into his pockets. "Do you know, after I fed on your magic, it made me physically stronger, but I still can't do spells. How endlessly frustrating…." Vyken sniffs deeply at the air. "I think I need a little more."

"You think feeding on him will give you spells? _Real_ magic? Things we spend our entire lives trying to perfect?" Theo spits. "Now who's a stupid little boy?"

They form a tensely charged circle around each other, and both Theo and Vyken seem to be gauging their chances of making a move on the other. Draco remains in a defensive stance, eyeing Theo's palm, knowing he's about to do something incredibly stupid.

Vyken tosses Theo a dismissive look. "Didn't I banish you?" he says, curling his lip.

Draco takes a tentative step forward, gauging Vyken's response time, but Vyken's eyes are on him, quick like lightning.

"Draco, darling," he says. "Where are all your friends? Not trying to save the humans are they?"

He pulls his hand from his pocket, and he holds up vial. "Theo isn't the only one who can buy things," Vyken says. "Dragon venom. Highly flammable. There's a whole vat of it in that bunker with them." Draco immediately reaches out with the bond, as Vyken prattles on. "I was always very good at booby traps."

_Harry get out now._

_What?_

_The place is rigged to explode._

But behind them is an almighty _BOOM_ and the bond tugs so hard at Draco's middle that it feels like a Portkey trying to take him away. Draco falls to his knees and he tries to reach out through the bond again and finds nothing. His breath comes out in a ragged gasp as he looks unseeingly at the raging fire behind them. The dining hall and most of the cabins are aflame, and he can hear the screams from here. He can smell the burning flesh.

"I told you, Draco." Vyken's voice comes across clear and calm. "If I don't lead my family, no one will."

Draco lets out a sound he's never made before, as his magic rises within him in powerful surges, just as Theo, too, finally gets to his feet, his face wrecked with tears as he makes a charge at Vyken. " _Crucio!_ " Theo's voice is high-pitched and broken.

Vyken's magic rises up to defend him and the bracelet on Draco's wrist lights up. It repels Vyken's counterattack with a low hum, and the three of them fly backwards several feet as the force of it rebounds against them.

Vyken is the first to recover, and he runs straight at Theo, who is still on his back, his gaze vacant. Draco raises his hand and sends a Stunner at Vyken's middle, but Vyken's already dodged it neatly before the spell completely leaves Draco's hand. A few hundred yards away, another massively powerful spell thunders at them with the force of an earthquake.

It lands short and scorches the earth right in front of Vyken. In the split second it takes for Draco to turn and spot Harry running towards them, looking thoroughly singed, but otherwise okay, his knees buckle with relief, and he almost falls to the snowy ground.

Vyken is looking at Harry in awe, and Draco uses his distraction to Summon the amulet. Vyken snarls and tries to snatch it back as it tugs itself off of his neck, but for once he isn't fast enough.

He makes an aborted lunge for Draco, but a battering ram of Stunners sent from all three wizards combined keeps him occupied as his magic tries to make a clumsy shield around him.

The amulet sends a surge of power through Draco's body as it settles in his hand, and his magic crackles and snaps around him, brushing against his skin, stretching luxuriously out into the cold. The world around him becomes a haze of gold, and the wards around the coven shimmer as they become visible, thick and impenetrable, like slabs of metal upon metal. He can feel Vyken's perversion of the portals, like an iron blanket draped over them, impeding their ability to open. Draco imagines his magic like a fist, and he tightens his grasp around them until Vyken's magic, and his control over all the portals, shatters.

When Draco is finished, his mouth is fully fanged and his chest swells with the newfound power inside him, puffing up further when Harry joins him at his side. "Disapparate, front and back. Use the orb. Got it?"

"Got it." Draco immediately Apparates behind Vyken, just as Harry appears in front of him, but Theo rises and pushes Harry out of the way.

Harry falls to the ground before he can land his spell, and Theo raises his palm. Draco knows from the look in his eyes that anything Theo is about to cast will be to kill Vyken.

Draco launches the orb at Vyken's head and it expands around him, but before a shield can drop, Vyken pulls a dagger from his pocket and hurls it towards Theo. The shield from the orb traps Vyken and brings him to his knees, but Draco doesn't feel an ounce of triumph as the dagger lands its target right at the centre of Theo's chest.

" _No, no, no, no._ "

Draco sprints to Theo's side, catching him before he falls to the earth beneath them. Draco reaches for the dagger, but it disintegrates beneath his hand, and the blood that was slowly gurgling out of Theo's body turns to a steady stream. Draco stares down at it as it flows, rendered immobile by his shock. 

Harry drops to Draco's side. "Why isn't he healing?" Harry asks, pressing his interlocked hands over the wound. "Draco why isn't he healing?"

"Cursed. The dagger is cursed."

The hair on Theo's head begins to rapidly turn white and Draco casts the most powerful Stasis Charm he can over Theo's abdomen.

Across the field, Vyken is writhing about in the snow, and Draco casts a Silencing Charm at him, then shrinks him downs and shoves Vyken into his pocket without even looking.

Harry removes his hands from Theo's chest and Draco casts a Cleaning Charm on them all, then another so he can properly examine Harry's face. There's a gash on his chin that's still bleeding, and he looks shell-shocked, but for the most part, Harry seems all right.

Draco wants to hold him, but he can tell Jules is on his way, running towards them, and he can _feel_ Jules' heart breaking over their bond.

The sound he makes as he finally comes within close range of the cabin, like a wounded animal, physically hurts. Jules stumbles towards them and falls beside Theo. His hands hover over him and he looks to Draco with question in his eyes.

"It's only a spell to stabilise him," Draco says. "But I'm not a Healer. I don't know what to do."

"He's still breathing," Harry adds. "But we need to move him."

"Je savais qu'il préparait quelque chose." Jules' hoarse tenor is faint. "Je le savais."

Draco gives Jules space and stands, taking Harry's hand and helping him up.

Harry raises his eyebrows. _Do you think he'll survive a Portkey?_

_I don't know._

In the distance is the echo of the crackling snaps and thuds of crashing wood as one of the cabins completely disintegrates in the flames. The fire continues to rage, and Draco bleakly looks on as the coven he was coming to love burns to ash in the snow.

_Casualties?_

Harry hesitates. _A few, some vampires who sided with Vyken. A couple others. Your warning helped. And Robards is apparently very good at shield charms._

_Padma?_

_She's fine. She helped Hermione make the fastest Portkey I've ever seen._

_Where did they go?_

_Jules gave us a location. Said it was safe for the vampires._

The feel of Harry's thought gives Draco pause. _Not for you?_

_Yes, I noticed that distinction, too._

Draco kneels beside Jules and gently touches his shoulder. "Jules?"

Jules doesn't look at him as he brushes Theo's now-white hair off his forehead. "Il ne survivra que si tu me donnes un coup de main." 

"Nous t'aiderons." 

"English, please," Harry says gently.

Draco gives him an apologetic look. "Jules, where did you send the others?"

"To the castle," he says. "Not far from the entrance we used."

Harry raises his brows. "On the hill in Normandy?"

Jules nods and stands, easily lifting Theo with him, and Draco helps him settle Theo's head on his shoulder. "It's the home of the council," he said. "The coven I was born into."

Like Hogwarts, the castle appears to be in complete ruins, but once they breach its boundaries, it materialises in full, looming larger than life ahead of them. Before it is a round stone courtyard, with a moss-covered fountain at its centre, bubbling with a half-hearted trickle of water. Guarding the fountain is a nude statue in the likeness of Venus, gesturing with an outreached arm, the folds of her robes pooled at her feet. Her stone façade is webbed with frost-covered vines, and her eyes follow them as they walk forward, raising the hairs at the back of Draco's neck. In contrast, the rest of the courtyard is decked out with holiday decorations, and a giant golden star hangs above the massive wooden doors that presumably lead to the entrance hall.

There are at least a dozen vampire guards milling about, their eyes bright with a just-fed glow, with automatic weapons slung around their bodies. Draco catches the eye of one of them, a young woman probably no older than twenty, with bright auburn hair and freckles on her nose. Her gaze is fixed on Jules, but he doesn't acknowledge her or anyone else as they make a sombre procession to steps before the entrance.

The Muggles, all ten of them, lay unconscious in conjured cots on the floor, covered with blankets, Seamus and Dean hovering around them protectively. Hermione and some of the vampires seem to be arguing with an older man who, from the greying auburn hair, bright blue eyes, and striking features, can only be Jules' father. Jules blanches when they pause at the foot of the steps, and his father looks towards them. When his eyes land on Jules, an expression of relief crosses his face, though it quickly disappears, and he waves Jules over as if summoning an animal. 

Jules walks ahead, but Draco's attention is pulled away when Padma almost bowls him over with the force of her hug, and she squeezes him tight. He squeezes her back, his nose buried in her smoky hair, singed at the ends. When she pulls away, she shakes her head as she looks up at him. "Never again, okay?" 

He kisses her forehead and hugs her again. The moment is so charged with emotion that he feels almost disassociated from it, finding it hard to accept that she is really back and whole and alive after vanishing just days before. "Same to you," he says. 

Several of the coven members come to him to see if he's all right, and Draco embraces Rei, who he remembers now as one of his first friends among them. Rei smiles at him, revealing a dimple in his cheek. "Good to see you alive, brother." 

Draco smiles, and his chest swells at being called such a thing. "Glad to see you alive, too." 

Padma pats his shoulder and they both follow the group to the centre of the commotion, where Jules and his father are having a heated argument. Theo is laying on a conjured cot at their feet while Hermione looks him over. Harry stands guard at her back, eyeing the multitude of guns and other weapons with a shrewd gaze. Gawain stands beside him, also looking ready for battle. There are burns on his hands and forehead and some of his hair looks like it has been singed clean off, but he's all right. Draco finds that he can breathe properly again, seeing them both in the same frame, alive and healthy and safe. 

"Tu sais ce qu'il est pour moi," Jules is saying. "Si tu le laisses mourir, autant me tuer aussi." 

"Épargne-moi tes exagérations, Jules." He turns and gestures to one of the guards. "Fais venir Farlok." 

The guard nods and runs inside with haste, but Jules' expression grows more devastated.

"Tu ne vas même pas me laisser le faire entrer?!"

"Leur magie n'est pas autorisée ici," Jules' father says. "Tu connais les règles de notre foyer."

"Foyer?! Quel foyer? J'ai toujours détesté cet endroit! Tu as fait de cet endroit un putain d'enfer pour moi."

The entire courtyard seems to come to a standstill at his outburst, even those who don't completely understand the language.

Jules' father recovers quickly, though he looks shaken if you know what to look for. Having a father with all of the same tells, Draco does. 

"Je ne le permettrai pas," he repeats.

Hermione rises up from her place by Theo, her expression furious. "That's absolute… _bollocks!_ Magic is magic! The enchantments protecting you, the bonds you all share, your abilities, that amulet around your neck! It's all magic! If you can't see that, you're a—a— _putain d'idiot._ " 

Jules' father seems at a loss for words but then a Goblin, presumably Farlok, rushes out from the entrance, dressed in a Gringotts uniform and with a monocle around one beady eye. He waves his tiny arms as he takes in Theo's form and kneels beside him looking academically interested, but otherwise unconcerned. 

Jules rushes to Farlok's side, looking desperate with the need to do something for his mate. "What can be done?" 

Farlok gives Jules a cursory look, as if confused by his concern, but answers him anyway. "The wound is cursed," he says. "Who cast this Stasis Charm?"

Draco walks up the stairs but stays at the edge of the circle, not wanting to crowd Theo. "I did."

"Unusually strong for a wizard," Farlok murmurs. "He should not have survived a Portkey."

"They're both vampires," Jules says. 

Farlok's monocle pops away from his eye and onto the collar of his uniform as he sputters. He hastily puts it back in, and peers at Draco. "Interesting…." 

"Please," Jules says. "Can you save him?" 

The Goblin looks startled out of his reverie and then nods. "Oh, yes, of course." He absently breaks the Stasis Charm, and Theo begins to bleed out again. Jules makes a soft sound of dismay. 

Farlok frowns as he focuses. "Blood-Replenishing Potion at the ready?" He hovers a surprisingly large and spindly-fingered hand over Theo, looking unconcerned at the blood gushing over Theo's white T-shirt. 

Harry tosses a vial to Jules who holds it up for Farlok to see. He sniffs at it and reels back with a sneer. "This potion has been tampered with." 

"It's been improved!" Hermione retorts hotly. "I brewed it myself."

Farlok sniffs again, this time with a haughty tilt to his chin, then he frowns in concentration and Theo's wound begins to slowly close beneath the bright red glow of Farlok's palm. By the time Farlok removes his hand, the skin on Theo's belly has returned to its previously unmarked, pale smoothness.

"Give him the potion!" Farlok says impatiently to Jules. "Do you want him to die?" 

Jules gently nudges Theo's mouth open with the vial and pours the potion in his mouth, and everyone remains completely still. Draco is afraid to even take a breath, until the moment Theo's throat begins working on its own as the vial empties. 

Farlok rises, looking pleased with himself. "He will live."

Hermione takes his place and kneels to cast a series of diagnostic spells over Theo as he coughs weakly. Farlok frowns down at the back of her head. "I said, he'll live."

His tone is lost on her as she only nods her head in agreement, and Draco hastily clears his throat to cover up his laugh. When he meets Harry's gaze, they grin at each other stupidly.

Farlok tuts. "He will need to feed very soon," he says. He begins to make for the castle doors but stops when Jules hastily rises to reverently shake his hand.

"Thank you," he says gravely. Farlok looks bemused, but he gives a short bow before he tugs back his hand and hurries away.

Harry retreats to where the Muggles are lying out in cots, presumably to examine everything, and Draco can't help but check out his arse as he crosses the courtyard. The bond in him perks up, and Draco looks hastily away as Jules kneels again at Theo's side and brushes his hair from his face. Hermione casts a Cleaning Charm to get rid of all the blood, and Theo's eyes flutter open. When they land on Jules, he sags with relief and weakly lifts his hand to touch his face. "I couldn't feel you."

Hermione leaves them and joins Draco, gently squeezing his forearm in greeting as Theo and Jules murmur to each other behind them. 

"Are you all right?" Draco asks her.

Hermione nods. "A few scratches," she says. "We have a lot of work to do."

Draco pulls his gaze away from Harry's arse again and shakes his head. "Huh?"

"Well, we have to learn all about this society, don't we? Now that you're a part of the community, don't you think it's an opportunity to…." She waves a hand. "Forge new connections?! Build relationships?"

"Erm… You did hear Jules' father, right?"

"Please," she says, rolling her eyes. "That's nothing. I've heard worse."

Draco shakes his head with a smile. "You're really something, Granger."

Her cheeks heat, and she waves him off as Jules calls them over. They form a small huddle around Jules and Theo with Gawain at Draco's side, Padma next to Hermione.

Theo is unconscious again in Jules's arms, and his expression is full of worry. "They have more Givers than any other coven," he says, "and Theo needs to feed, but my father will not allow wizards inside the castle."

"That's not our only problem," Harry says descending the steps towards them. His leather trousers cling tightly to his thick thighs, and Draco finds himself thoroughly distracted. Gawain kicks his boot. "Those Muggles need to stabilise before they can travel again. Seamus set them up with Warming Charms, and they're under stasis, but they can't stay out here."

The redheaded guard with the freckles interrupts their little confab without preamble, pushing herself into their circle with her gaze fixed on Draco. "You're Jules', aren't you?" she asks, her French accent thick.

"I really wish vampires would stop saying that," Harry mutters from the stair above, though he sends Draco a little wink.

She doesn't spare Harry a glance, but peers down at Jules where he sits with Theo, eyebrows raised. "Tu as transformé un sorcier, frérot?"

Jules nods without looking at her. "Et sauvé sa vie."

Her mouth twitches and she holds her hand out to Draco, who shakes it. "I'm Jeanne."

"Draco."

She looks over the whole group. "My father can be difficult," she says. "Our mother was killed by wizards, and he still holds a grudge."

Harry folds his arms across his chest. "I'm sorry to hear that," he says. "But nobody here killed your mother, and it's cold. We can't risk another magical transport with those Muggles, and Draco's coven needs help."

It feels so perfectly right to hear the coven referred to as _his._ A new and eager offshoot of Draco's bond between him and the coven members begins to awaken as the energy of the amulet starts to swirl against his chest. Draco puts his hand over it and tries to follow the conversation.

Jeanne looks back at where her father stands at the entrance to the castle, his expression foreboding. At his nod, she turns back to Harry. "He wants something in return."

Harry looks unsurprised as he raises an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest. "What?"

"The humans will remember what Vyken did to them and expose us. You have magic that can prevent that. If you use it, my father will allow everyone inside."

Jules shakes his head. "Je n'arrive pas à croire que tu te sois mise à négocier pour lui."

"Tu est parti. Quelqu'un devait le faire."

"Parti?! J'ai été banni."

"Tu sais qu'il ne le pensait pas."

"English, please," Harry puts in, startling them both.

"My apologies," Jeanne says. "Will you do it?"

Harry raises his eyebrows at Hermione and she nods. "Okay," Harry says. "I'll modify their memories, if you let us—all of us—stay as long as we need." He threads his lower lip through his teeth, and Draco has to look away. "Deal?"

Jeanne looks to her father again, who gives an almost imperceptible nod. "Deal."

The second she says the word, the doors to the castle open all the way, and many of the members of Draco's coven look towards him for guidance. He nods at them, and they begin to pick up themselves, and what little belongings they had managed to take with them, into the castle.

"They waited for you," Gawain says as he grips Draco's shoulder. "They won't leave family behind."

The youngest vampire in the group, a teenager with curly blonde hair that often gets caught in her earrings, catches Draco's eye as they begin heading in. Draco used to tease her by calling her Marigold, a name she endlessly despised, but he suddenly remembers with vivid clarity that her name is—

"Mary."

She grins at him as she waves and Draco waves back, heart soaring as a new bond between him and his coven seems to slowly unfurl in his mind, like a beating heart, like a tree springing new flowers each day, slow and steady. 

They're all family now. Maybe this time, family can become something more than temporary.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some French in this chapter. If you hover your curser over the French words, an English translation should appear!

Draco

_Four months later_

It's an unseasonably warm Spring day in London, and both he and Padma are dressed for the weather: Padma in a sundress that shows off her gorgeous brown skin, and Draco in a lightweight white linen shirt and trousers. They both push their sunglasses up as they jostle their way into the crowded train just before the doors close.

"Why couldn't we have taken a car?" Draco grouses as he and Padma fight to find a spot closer to the handrails. A woman with a giant pram scowls at them as Draco almost knocks over her baby.

"Because I never get to take the train," she says. Her radish earrings jangle as they both settle themselves to stand. Neither of them have train legs, and they both look distinctly uncomfortable. "Stop complaining."

The train leaves the station with a lurch, and Draco uses the distraction to cast a _Muffliato_ around them so they can speak openly.

"How are things coming along with the construction?" Padma asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She got a short pixie cut after the fire, saying she couldn't get the smoky smell out, no matter how many times she washed it. She claims to hate it, but Draco thinks it makes her already striking brown eyes and cheekbones even more beautiful. She pokes his shoulder. "I never see you anymore, you're so busy."

"Also, we don't work together anymore," Draco says, laughing when she rolls her eyes. "Ron says he and Lee should be finishing up the final set of cabins at the end of this month."

They began the painstaking process of picking up the pieces of their coven not long after New Year's Day, and aided by their friends and a bit of magic, it's well on its way to becoming a home again.

When they had come to the ruins for the first time after it had burned, they had found it teeming with Goblins securing the remains of all their artefacts in the secret tunnels beneath the coven. Draco was livid and decided then and there to break the council's tradition.

He declined the Goblins' offer to restore the portals and protect them with wards in exchange for the storage of their artefacts. The Goblins had then tried to claim ownership of the lands, but it was easy enough to buy them out and wave the deed in their faces when they complained about it.

He convinced Theo to do the same, and now both their covens operate separate from the rest of the council, though they remain open to vampires no matter where they come from.

They built a Floo within Draco's personal cabin and in the dining hall, and there's one in Theo's coven in Spain as well. Though non-magical vampires and Givers cannot use it on their own, it's a temporary solution until a new means of portal is found—a project Hermione has been working on feverishly in her spare time.

Padma nudges him. "What about the council?"

"Still no," Draco says, shaking his head. "I have an amulet, and by their own laws, our coven should be recognised. But the fact that I'm a wizard is apparently too much for them."

"But you got rid of Vyken" Padma says hotly. "Sent him to Azkaban! Doesn't that count for something?" 

Draco sighs. "Apparently not." 

"You don't need them anyway, right? You've given up the portals." 

Padma looks at him hopefully, but Draco shakes his head. "The council is our only connection to vampires all over the world," he says. "They know the location of every coven; their libraries are unparalleled." Draco holds on as the train shudders around a turn. "They have so much knowledge about what we are, our histories, our abilities. I could learn more about the bond…." He trails off, not waiting to elaborate because he hasn't even asked Harry yet, and he's not sure that he will anytime soon, but he also wants to know if there is a way to link the bond to a traditional wizarding marriage bonding ceremony. "They're keeping everything to themselves just because they're… idiotic."

The Ravenclaw in Padma looks about ready to burst in frustration, and he smiles. "At least you have Jules in your corner," she says. "I think his father will come around someday."

They're silent for a moment, and then Draco steps closer to her. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you, Padma," Draco says. "I just never had the chance."

She raises an eyebrow, and Draco ventures on. "Why didn't you leave the cottage in Somerset?" The train suddenly lurches forward, and he holds her steady. Once they resettle themselves Draco continues, "You had time. Between the time I got shot, and the time they came for you, you could have escaped. What happened?"

"The last I'd heard from you was a gunshot," she says, looking incredulous. "I didn't trust the department to try to rescue you. To retrieve your body if you'd—" She cuts herself off, seemingly not willing to let herself go there, and Draco puts his palm over the back of her hand as it rests on the rail. "If you were hurt, I was coming for you. If you made it out, I would finish what you started. I _had_ to let them take me."

Draco desperately wants to pull her into a hug, but he can't, as they're squashed on the bloody Underground, so he squeezes her hand instead.

She smiles at him. "Now, are you finally going to say what else you've been itching to tell me all morning?" she asks. "I can see it in your face that there's more." 

"I had a meeting with the Department of Mysteries," he says, blurting it out after holding it in for so long. "About a week ago." 

Padma doesn't look surprised as she nods. "They offered you a job." 

"Granted I pass all the required tests and field training," he says. 

"And you will. Draco, I'm so happy for you." She groans. "Now you're really not coming back to the department." 

Draco laughs. "I never was," he says. "You know that whole appeal was a sham." 

"It's not the same without you," she says. "I hate everyone else."

The train judders to a halt, and the folks who've reached their stop make a mad dash for the door as both Padma and Draco run for their now-vacant seats. They sit triumphantly and smile at each other as though they've won the House Cup. "You should join me," Draco says. 

"What?!"

"I sort of told them I won't join them unless my partners can join, too." 

"Partners?!" Padma screeches, hitting his arm for no reason at all. 

"Gawain already said yes," Draco says with a grin. "But we're reckless and we need a handler." 

Padma laughs. "You're insane! Merlin. I can't believe you two as partners! He'll be yelling at you every five seconds!" 

"Don't think I don't know that." Draco raises his eyebrows. "So, what do you think? Come make sure we don't kill ourselves?"

"Or each other," Padma adds, smiling. "I really want to! I can't see myself staying with the Auror department much longer." Draco nods eagerly at her, hoping she'll nod along, and say yes. She rolls her eyes. "I'll need to talk to Luna. She's still shaken up, and I promised her no more secrets." 

"I understand," Draco says. "Is she doing better though? No more nightmares?"

"Much better. I have to thank Hermione for that new Dreamless Sleep she sent us." She waves off the topic and smiles. "Come on then, tell me what your cover will be."

"A lifestyle of debauchery and leisure." Draco sits up straighter, nose in the air. "I'm to be in the social columns at least once a week." 

"With your straight-laced Ministry boyfriend on your arm?" 

Draco grins. "Naturally."

They hit their stop and have to join hands in order to battle their way out before the doors close. "We are never doing that again," Draco breathes as he leads the way out of the Underground. Once they've escaped, he uses a discreet Four-Point Spell to guide them on the short walk to Seamus' apartment. 

When they knock on the door, Seamus opens it without much ado, and when he sees their faces, he blanches and stands very still. "I knew this was coming," he says quietly before stepping aside to let them in as he holds the door open.

He follows them down the hallway, picking up a jumper from his coat stand and bunching it in his hands as he joins them in the living room. "Just let me say goodbye to Dean, yeah?" he says. "He's still asleep." 

He squares his shoulders to leave, but Padma stops him. "Seamus, wait," she says. He turns to face her, lifting his chin and looking her in the eye. Draco knows, only because Padma had told him, that Seamus wrote her a formal letter of apology, much like the one he had written Draco. In it, he had asked Padma if he could see her to apologise in person, but she had declined. 

He admires Seamus' ability to still look her in the eye. 

"What you did was despicable," she says. "You valued Dean's life over everyone else's, including mine, and because of that, you put a lot of lives in danger."

"I know." Seamus doesn't try and make excuses.

Padma releases a weary sigh. "But I forgive you," she says. "I know it was a really… fucked up situation." 

Seamus sniffs, shifting his stance as he fidgets with the jumper in his hands. "Thank you, Padma," he says quietly. "Really appreciate you saying that." 

She gestures to Draco. "Neither of us named you in any of the hearings that ended last week," she continues. "And we never will. There's no reason for the Auror department to suspect you."

"Thank you." Seamus shakes his head, looking completely off-centre. 

Padma nods briskly. "But we can't guarantee you'll be safe from the investigation in your own department, which is still on-going." Padma glances at Draco. "Though, between you and me, I suspect it will turn into a cold case in a few years." 

Draco reaches into his pocket and pulls out the shrunken drawstring bag he uses for spare change—a gift from Hermione many Christmases ago. There are both Extendable and Lightening Charms on it that allows him to comfortably stack at least a couple hundred Galleons inside. He hands it to Seamus who takes it gingerly, looking perplexed.  
"My emergency stash."

Seamus opens the pouch and peers inside. "Your emergency stash?"

"Take it to Gringotts," Padma says. "Exchange it for Muggle currency. Leave England for a few years. Take Dean with you."

Seamus stares at her. "Padma," he says, tone reverent. 

"It's charmed so that if an MLE official names you a suspect, it'll give you heads up," she says. "If it ever turns red, you run." 

He looks down at the pouch in his hands with an expression of disbelief, and nods a few times to himself, closing his eyes briefly. "Thank you," he says in a whisper, and Draco has to look away from the raw outpouring of emotion on his face. 

Seamus wipes his eyes. "Is Harry okay with this?" he asks, directing his question to Draco. 

"Just… keep your head down."

Seamus nods again, gratefully. "Dean…." Seamus rubs his beard and shifts his feet, and for a while it seems he cannot say anything more. Padma meets his gaze, and her eyes fill with tears as well. 

Seamus' Adam's apple works a few times. "He wouldn't have made it if I was—" He stops himself again and holds up the pouch. "Thank you. I think you saved his life."

"I'm meeting Luna for lunch." Padma says, pulling on her sunglasses outside Seamus' apartment. "Do you want to join us?"

Draco shakes his head. "Harry's waiting."

She gives him a knowing smile, and Draco brushes a kiss against her cheek as they part ways.

He takes a car back up to Charing Cross to head to the Leaky Cauldron, but on his way, he spots a bouquet of white lilies sitting outside of a charming flower shop and thinks of Harry. Draco asks the driver to pull over and pays his fare, then he gets out and runs across the street, waving his apologies to an angry motorist when he has to brake hard in order not to kill him. 

Luckily, he has some extra Muggle money left after having to purchase an Oyster card, and he buys the flowers, thanking the elderly shop assistant with a smile, which he gamely holds on to even when she tells him how much his wife will love them. 

Stepping out of the Floo into his cabin right on the outskirts of the coven feels more like coming home than anywhere else he's ever lived. He immediately feels Harry reach for him as he steps through. He smiles when the warm thought reaches him, amazed at Harry's heartfelt joy at his return, even though he reacts this way every time Draco comes home. 

_You're back._

_Where are you?_

_Kitchen._

Draco should have known. The house smells of delicious meat and spices, and Draco sets his sunglasses down on the mantelpiece, sniffing the air as his stomach growls. The living room has Harry's hand all over it, warm reds and tan furniture with soft cream rugs and a massive entertainment centre chock full of video games.

_I was visiting Padma._

_Oh, Padma? Not Seamus and Dean?_

Draco pauses at the bottom of the stairs to Summon a Blood-Replenishing Potion from their stash in the linen closet on the second floor. He's hungry in more ways than one.

_How exactly did you know that?_

_If your sudden desire for space and use of Occlumency last week wasn't enough, your little stash of Galleons was also gone._

_Oh._

The vial sails into Draco's hand just as Harry rounds the corner and Draco's breath catches as he almost sends it crashing to the floor. Harry is dressed in a cut-off, sleeveless yellow T-shirt and jet-black joggers, his feet bare, looking freshly showered and shaved. His green eyes are luminous, though his gaze is slightly hazy, and his body is relaxed in that way he gets when he's been playing with himself while Draco is away. The serpent and flame tattoo on his arm shimmers as it twirls around the swell of his bicep, and his joggers are distractingly low on his hips as he crosses the room. 

Draco's not sure how long he's been standing there staring, but Harry gives him a warm smile as he gestures to the lilies in Draco's hand. "Those are beautiful," he says. "Perfect for those ‘honey I just released a major suspect and lied about his involvement in a case' occasions." 

_He's not a suspect._

Harry remains silent on that, and Draco groans. "Harry…."

"Nope." Harry takes the flowers and disappears with them into the kitchen.

_The less I know about it, the better._

Draco joins him in the kitchen and opens the fridge to find a couple of chocolate bars still in his stash. He grabs one and leans against the counter, peeling back the foil and biting off a corner with a snap.

Harry watches him out of the corner of his eyes as he sets the flowers in a vase and fills it with water. "It is incredibly weird that you put chocolate in the fridge," he says. "You know that, right?"

Draco shrugs, eyeing the curve of Harry's arsecheeks in his joggers. His arse could probably be considered a kind of… distraction hazard. Thing. "I like it crunchy."

Harry laughs. _How's Padma?_

"She's fine," Draco says, taking another bite. "I told her about the job offer."

Harry leans against the counter opposite him; his joggers slip lower. "And?"

Draco opens his mouth, but then loses all train of thought. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

Harry grins and Draco drops the chocolate to make a ‘come here' motion with his index finger, loving the way Harry immediately complies. "Maybe," he says.

"It's working very well."

He guides Harry's hand to his cock, already half-hard in his trousers, and groans when Harry cups him and gently squeezes.

"Was that a Blood-Replenishing Potion I saw you slip into your pocket?"

"Mhm. Think you can?"

_Always._

Draco hands Harry the potion, and he downs it, before setting the vial aside. They've learned that if he takes it beforehand, Harry always feels better afterwards, especially when Draco is particularly thirsty. 

Draco begins pushing up the cotton of Harry's T-shirt, his fingers flat against the smooth skin of Harry's chest, but then Harry leans back and pulls it off over his head, mussing his hair up even further before he throws it across the kitchen. It lands right inside the pot of meat on the stove, but they both ignore it as Harry fumbles to unbutton Draco's shirt.

Draco Apparates them the short distance to the living room, not trusting himself with anything further, and nudges Harry backwards so that he lands on the giant sectional sofa Harry had insisted they purchase. Harry pushes himself in a backwards crawl to the largest part of the sofa, abs flexing as he uses the movement to push off his joggers as well. For a moment, Draco just stands there, trousers half-unbuttoned as he admires the quiet beauty of his mate, feeling short of breath. The bond unfurls itself even more, forming a thread between them that wasn't there before, and suddenly Harry's breaths feel like his breaths, and the racing of Harry's heart creates an echoing thud in Draco's chest.

_That's new._

_Maybe it's a sex thing._

Draco laughs, pulls off his shirt, and finishes unbuttoning his trousers, pushing them off along with his pants, and leaving all of his clothes in a heap on the floor. He crawls over Harry until he has him pinned by the wrists, and Harry bares his neck for him as Draco sniffs deeply, his senses opening up at the intoxicating scent of Harry's blood.

He licks the underside of Harry's jaw, nibbling the skin there softly, and Harry vibrates beneath him as he spreads his legs and arches his back. Harry's erection digs into Draco's thigh, and Draco shifts into position, nudging his cock against Harry's and then rolling his hips. Harry lifts his hips to meet him as they build a steady rhythm, frotting against each other until they're both slick and dripping.

Harry gently nibbles Draco's earlobe between his teeth. "Have I ever told you," he says breathily, "how much it turns me on when you speak French?"

Draco pulls away, and straddles Harry properly, taking his slick cock in hand and stroking it while Harry runs his palm over Draco's thighs. "Oh, vraiment?" Draco's voice is a low rumble as he strokes Harry's cock. "Je devrais le faire plus souvent alors."

"Oh yeah," Harry moans, lifting his hips and fucking himself into the palm of Draco's hand. "I have no idea what you're saying." He chokes out a breath as Draco twists his wrist and uses his free hand to hold Harry's hips down on the sofa. "I just like the way you say it."

Draco snakes a finger between Harry's arsecheeks, and Harry lifts his hips helpfully when Draco's fingers seek his hole. When Draco finds it, he stills, then fingers the rim of the plug that's already inside Harry's body, enticed by the slippery feel of the lube around Harry's arsehole. Harry grins up at him as he wraps his hand around his own dick and starts jerking himself off.

"You are the worst tease," Draco says weakly. He wants to fuck Harry with the plug until he comes, but he also wants to fuck him with his dick at the same time. Though he supposes both are possible. The thought makes his cock twitch against his stomach.

He taps his finger against the base of the plug and whispers an incantation to set it to vibrate, and Harry's lets out a high-pitched noise as his hand stills on his dick.

"Tell me more…." he breathes.

"Hmmm... Laisse-moi réfléchir…." Draco gently pulls the plug out halfway, then pushes it back in again, and Harry arches his back and digs his fingers into the sofa cushion, seemingly attempting to clutch as much fabric as he can. " _God._ "

Draco shifts backwards so he can take the tip of Harry's cock in his mouth, and Harry whimpers when Draco mouths the spongy head and spells the plug to begin fucking itself in an out of Harry's arsehole.

"Ungh… Fucking god, Draco, yes."

Draco lies flat on his stomach in between Harry's thighs, then takes Harry's dick in hand, stroking it slowly in time with the slick pistoning of the vibrating butt plug.

"Je pourrais te dire à quel point j'ai besoin de toi?" Draco says, kissing the inside of Harry's thigh.

He kisses the crease between Harry's thigh and his hip, and Harry's body starts to quiver the way it does when he's getting really close. Draco spells more lube inside Harry's hole, and reduces the speed of the buttplug fucking him.

Harry hisses. _Bastard._

Draco wraps his hand around Harry's cock and begins stroking him again, swirling his thumb around the head on each pass, a method that never ceases to drive Harry wild.  
Harry's hips work against Draco as Draco holds him down, and Draco licks a path along the crease of Harry's thigh. "Je pourrais te dire que tu me hantes l'esprit." Draco tightens his grip on Harry's cock and starts jerking him hard and fast. "Je pourrais te dire que je veux que tu m'épouses."

Harry lifts his head and knocks Draco's hand away from his dick. "Bite me or fuck me, pick one, but do it now." His head falls back as his thighs shudder. "You're killing me."

"Et pourquoi pas les deux?"

Draco spells the buttplug at a pace set to completely wreck Harry's arse, turns his head, and sinks his fangs deep into the flesh of Harry's inner thigh. The _sound_ that Harry lets loose will get them some looks from the rest of the coven at dinner, but it is absolutely worth it to see his mate lose his mind beneath him as he feeds on his blood.

Harry comes so hard that his hips buck against the sofa and Draco has to lean into Harry's thigh to prevent him from forcing him to disengage his fangs. Harry's blood gushes into Draco's mouth, seeping from the corners of his lips and onto Draco's chin, and Draco laps it all up, like a crazed, starved animal.

Soon, Draco can no longer wait, and he pulls away and ceases the spell on the buttplug. He leans over and licks a smear of Harry's come from his thigh as Harry groans in relief, but Draco doesn't intend to give him much of a reprieve. He gently pulls the buttplug from Harry's slick hole, tosses it aside, and quickly replaces it with his cock.

Harry slowly opens up to him— his body always needs time to adjust to Draco's girth, regardless of how much he's been stretched. Draco positions himself above Harry, a palm on either side of Harry's shoulders, as he drops a kiss onto Harry's forehead.

_Okay?_

Harry nods quickly and clutches onto Draco's sides as his thighs clamp around Draco like a vise. Draco begins to fuck him in a slow-building rhythm, and with each stoke, Harry grunts softly and tries to clutch Draco even closer, lifting his hips to meet Draco's thrusts.

Draco drops to his elbow, and his stomach glides slickly over Harry's come-damp stomach, grazing over his still half-hard cock.

_Faster._

Harry lifts his head and catches Draco's mouth in a demanding kiss, burying his hands into Draco's hair and clutching the roots almost painfully, wrenching a deep groan from Draco's gut. Draco quickens his pace until his rhythm becomes faulty and erratic as he slowly rises towards orgasm.

Harry's tongue gently probes Draco's mouth, as if seeking out the mingled flavours of his blood and come. That's the thought that vaults Draco all the way up to an orgasm so intense, it seems to remove the element of time from the universe. Harry clutches onto him as they drift into each other, their thoughts skating across each other's minds like shooting stars. After a final bone-racking shudder, Draco finds that he can no longer hold himself up. 

They arrange themselves into a comfortable position without having to speak, ending up with Harry on his back, Draco's long limbs draped all over him, his head pillowed against Harry's firm chest. 

When he fully comes back down, and can understand the world again, Draco presses a kiss to Harry's ribs. Harry's cheek grazes Draco's forehead when he smiles. 

"Welcome back, you." Harry's voice is a hoarse rumble from all his screaming. 

_You okay?_

_One hundred percent fine._

Draco begins to drift into a doze, his thoughts hazy. He thinks he feels the soft slide of a cotton blanket that Harry spreads over them, but he can't be sure if he's dreaming or not.

Harry gently combs his fingertips through Draco's hair. "Love?" 

_Hmmm?_

_Will you ever say those things to me... in English?_

Draco smiles and kisses Harry's rib again as he drifts fully into sleep. 

_Someday._

**The Final INTERLUDE**

_Let me photograph you in this light…._

_Thirteen years ago_

They sit shoulder to shoulder in front of Harry's fireplace in his unfinished flat, as Ron snores in a sleeping bag at their feet. Harry stares into the flames, trying not let it show how much this moment between them has unnerved him. How Malfoy's quiet words, his sudden unexpected trust, and the way he laid himself bare has strangely gutted him.

After all the apologies and the speeches and the trials and the exchanging of the wands, Harry had thought that Malfoy would become a passing acquaintance, someone he could nod at across a hallway in acknowledgment of their shared trauma. He accepted this with a silent kind of sadness that he carefully hid from everyone.

Then Malfoy showed up to Auror training unannounced, visibly nervous, but had found his footing and flourished. Over the nearly three years of Auror training, Malfoy had quietly and steadily made his way into Harry's social circle. He made great lengths to extend a hand of friendship to everyone else. He saved Ron's life when a curse trap had almost exploded at his spine in their very first field mission—the reason for the beginning of this awkward conversation—but Malfoy never seemed particularly inclined to extend his friendship to Harry. It had bothered Harry so much that he made himself learn to overlook the acute feeling of rejection he felt when Malfoy walked into a room.

But they've just spent almost half the night simply talking, so maybe he hasn't been alone in his feelings all along. Maybe Draco, too shares a quiet longing to be understood by Harry. 

Harry feels so vulnerable that he shivers even in front of the flames as he studies Malfoy out of the corner of his eyes. Malfoy sips his coffee and stares ahead, probably contemplating misgivings of his own. His body is lean and lithe, and over the last few months he's packed on a bit of muscle from their training, so that he fills out most of his clothes in an entirely different way than he did at school.

It's never been strange for Harry to consider the shape of another man and to feel attraction stir restlessly within him. He's always known that being attracted to one gender to the exclusion of all others is not something he can relate to. He is attracted to beauty and softness, beauty and harsh lines, beauty and soft thighs or muscle-laden thighs, or flat chests, or the soft swell of Ginny breasts. He liked the way he could tease Ginny's nipple between his teeth when she rode him. He'd liked the hard lines of Michael Corner's body when they slept together in a passionate tousle of limbs and heavy panting breaths.

He likes bodies and people, their stories and their dreams, who they are and what they try to be. Though his relationship with Ginny had fizzled soon after the NEWTs, he would never say it's because he doesn't feel anything for her, but he's always been desperately seeking a fire and spark—that one person who can help Harry's life feel more real, make it final and _complete._

Why he is contemplating this while staring at Malfoy he doesn't know, but god, he's beautiful. How has he never noticed that Malfoy's lashes are quite so long? They sweep delicately upwards, a darker blond than the hairs on his head, lending softness to his otherwise granite features. Harry follows the lines of Malfoy's bold cheekbones, sharp and unforgiving, juxtaposed by the soft curve of his lush mouth. His chin has a fair amount of stubble, and Harry notes, with a swell of a strange kind of need, how endearing it is that Malfoy should also suffer from a five o'clock shadow like the rest of the world.

"You're staring," Malfoy says, without looking at him.

Malfoy's mouth curves up into a small smile, and Harry doesn't look away for a second. He's never seen Malfoy smile like that before, and it's mesmerising. When Malfoy faces him, and those large grey eyes finally meet his, they shine like bright silver in the light of the flames, and that's when it hits Harry hard like a Bludger to the stomach.

With everyone else, all the people he's fucked and been with and dated and touched, there's never been _this._ The thing he'd been missing and been yearning and searching for all of his life. This punch in the gut feeling, this tingle on his skin, this energy that pulses like a thread between Malfoy's body and his. 

There's a spark here, and he can almost feel Malfoy's magic twirling around his limbs like the flames that flicker before them. And somehow, without thinking too much about it, he knows. This is the real deal, the once in a lifetime spark, the moment that he's going to look back on and hold it up as _the_ moment, the exact moment he fell. 

It's three in the morning, and he is twenty-three years old, and he knows in his heart that he's finally glimpsed it, and one day he'll touch it, that this is what love looks like, and it's glorious. It's everything.

It's magic.

**Author's Note:**

> ❤Leave a kudos if you enjoyed this, or a comment if you like ❤ Find me on [Tumblr](http://kedavranox.tumblr.com)! ❤


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